Ten Arrows and Other Short Stories
by RedKinoko
Summary: Short, readable.in.one.sitting stories about the world of RO. If you dont fancy the lengthy, this collection's for you. Series Complete. R&R if you have the time. Latest: What People Do When They're In Love
1. Ten Arrows

**Ten Arrows **by Redkinoko

"You too?" asked the huntress.

The priest fixed the nosepiece of his glasses, patted his side pocket, gave out a weak  
smile, and replied,"Yep."

The huntress took out ten silver arrows from her stash. "This is it, I guess. The last  
ten."

The priest looked around the place. Countless zombies were closing in on them from all  
directionsaround the mound and the graveyards didn't look likethey were going to run out of  
bodies to exhume any time soon.

The huntress aimed for the closest ghoul and fired an arrow. It took only one hit to die.  
Its rank, however, was replaced by more zombies coming from behind him.

_Nine Arrows._

The huntress readied her next shot. "Say Ron, do you remember why you came with me on this  
mission?"

The priest gave out a laugh while busily casting holy light on the undead. "Yep. I came  
because I said I could use some more exercise."

The huntress let go of the arrow. Another zombie fell flat on the ground.

_Eight Arrows. _

"Well, it looks like we got more than what we bargained for this time around."

"I've always wanted to live on the edge. My fate here fits well with my lifestyle. Here's to  
the Priest who hated the undead so much that he joined them in the process!"

More zombies fell from the attacks of Ron, a priest who exorcised for a living.

The huntress fired another shot at one of the undead who was able to survive Ron's holy  
light.

_Seven Arrows. _

"Hah! Joking in the face of danger. You've always been like that. That's what I liked about  
you," said the huntress while pulling out another arrow from the quiver.

The priest chuckled a bit. The distance between them and the circling mob of zombies was  
growing smaller by the moment. The huntress released another arrow on one of the larger zombies.

_Six Arrows. _

"Ana, would you do me one last favor?" asked the priest whose exhaustion was more than  
visible in his dirtied face.

"If you're gonna ask me to kiss you, I still won't. Not even if that would be our ticket out  
of this mess!" responded huntress in ajoking tinge.

"It's not that. I just want you to wear something for me. I figured it would be of no use  
for me now anyway."

The priest tugged off his cross necklace and threw it towards the huntress.

Ana, the huntress, let go of the cocked arrow and caught the shining object. She nimbly put  
it around her neck, turned to the priest for a brief moment, smiled, and said, "Happy?"

_Five Arrows. _

Ron nodded. "It looks better on you. Keep it."

The sea of ghouls was slowly swarming in on the two. The huntress cocked in the silver arrow  
that she was holding and fired away at one of the closer zombies.  
_  
Four Arrows. _

"So Ana, are you scared if dying?" said the priest.

"You can say that. But somehow, the feeling that I have right now feels a bit  
anti-climactic. This really isn't what I would call going out in a glorious blaze of fire,"  
replied the huntress as she fired another missile at the endless mob.

_Three Arrows _

"Hahaha! Somehow, I already knew this was going to happen."

The two were starting to feel uneasy with the situation. They were simply too close to their  
enemies now for comfort. Decaying flesh was slowly overwhelming the mound.

Ron killed off another set of undead and looked at Ana head on. "You know, I lied about two  
things to you today."

Ana shot a zombie who nearly got close enough to attack. She hopped two steps backward and  
ended up leaning at the back of the also cornered priest.

"Two lies?"

_Two Arrows. _

"Yep. Firstly, I didn't come here to get exercise," nervously uttered the priest. "I came  
here to make sure you're alright."

The huntress smiled back. "I think I already know about that one. Nice job in protecting  
me by the way." She gave out a short laugh afterwards.

Another arrow fired. Another fallen zombie.

_One Arrow. _

"Well, I only gots one arrow left. It looks like we're gonna die anyway so I can't really  
stay mad at you, can I? What's the other lie?"

The priest turned around, put his hands on both her narrow shoulder blades, and passionately kissed the  
huntress. The kiss was promptly ended when the zombies reached out to him and  
forcibly dragged him away with their bony arms.

Ron gave out a weary smile. "I'm not out of gems yet."

**WARP PORTAL! **

The huntress reappeared in the middle of the bustling, lethargic Pronteran plaza. With tears  
in her eyes, she clutched her new necklace with one word inscribed on the pendant:  
"Live".

----

_Many people still ask me why the priest refused to go with the huntress, why he chose to die. After reading it again and again, I found myself asking the same question. Why unnecessary heroism? Why? One last piece is missing in this story. And the same can be said of mine._

**Ten Arrows by Redkinoko**

_What happened to the last one?_


	2. Stalker

STALKER by Redkinoko 

_Look at them. _

_Just look at them. _

_Her hands. Her hands are vile! Treacherous snakes, they are! Twining, gently caressing his arms like there's no tomorrow! _

_And her eyes! Those damned mirrors are imprisoning his soul! _

_The sight makes me sick! _

_So what if she's a pretty dancer? _

_  
I can do that too!_

_Well…_

_So maybe not! _

_But I'm a thief! Stealing's what I'm good at! Oh why ever did the gods give me an ability so unbecoming of a lady?  
  
_

_Mm? _

_They're at her house now._

_You don't say…_

_HE CAN'T DO THAT! _

_NOT WITH HER!_

_Wait…_

_They're talking._

_She's… crying?_

_Maybe he's coercing her. Maybe he wants her but she's hesitating._

_What in Odin's name!?_

_His hands are on her shoulders! _

_And that bitch! She's actually going for it,  burying her face in his chest and all. _

_That lousy good fer nothing priest! He's actually enjoying the moment!_

_I'll kill him if he tries anything behind my back!_

_Going out for a walk, he says! Hah! A walk to her bed maybe! That horny hode! I'ma swear I'll kill him!_

_Huh? He's whispering something to her…_

_I need to get close enough._

_Closer._

_Just a little bit._

_Damn, I still can't hear._

_There._

"… she's here."

**RUWACH!**

The priest smiled at me, "Hi Kate. Since you've been following us around all day. Would you mind helping me out in looking for my sister's lost desert wolf pup?"

_Mm? Not that I think about it…_

_They do look alike._

_Ughh_

_…_

_Kill me please. I wanna die. _


	3. Chance

**Chance by Redkinoko**

_By way of the gambler, dispute is often left to lady luck, by a card, or a coin toss, or some absurd wager to beat any conflict reasoning that often ends up in confusion. _

That was the code by which rogues played, lived, and died. For them, it was a way of truth. Still, for others like Ayn Halley and Jefferey Rimgaul, it was a game.

A game that was to be played with seriousness.

_I love you. _

Those were the last three words that Ayn could ever have thought of saying that day, that day they finally decided to raid the Temple of Mahamouti in the north-westerly dune range of Sograt. It was a perfectly ordinary Moroccan day - hot and arid. Why she eventually spilled those words were beyond her explanation.

Ayn Halley wasn't what one could call a reserved woman. In fact, she should be the last person to come in to view when asked to imagine one. Her drop-dead looks and fade-away smiles could captivate any man who had enough blood left in his eyes to see after they heard her siren voice. And that she was a dream to most men was something that she used quite freely. Love was a skill that she was a master of. 

Many partners, she's had in the past. She's been with a company. She's been alone. Ayn was a rogue hardened by experience and whip lashed all too often by life to know its inner workings.

She thought she could figure anything out in the universe with her keep-it-real philosophies.

At least, until she met the spectacularly enigmatic Jeffery Rimgaul - a fellow rogue with a none-too-standing-out charisma and a strange aura of nonchalance that often got Ayn guessing twice.

They first met at a pub in Morroc six months ago. She was spending off her loot. He was just going for a 'drink'. Half-drunk and totting a very polished ego, reigning drinking champ of the Shifting Sands Bar Ayn Halley challenged Jeff to a drinking contest, betting all her loot.

She went against a bottomless pit and lost.

Totally drunk and probably out of her wits, she then challenged him again to a same contest. But finding nothing else to bet, she then offered her companionship.

It was a farcical second round. After a single round of drinks, Jeff found himself with a sack full of loot and a very drunk new partner. Why he agreed to keep true to the second bet was still a mystery.

That was how it all got started.

But what made Ayn keep true to her side of the wager was the fact that Jeff was a maze that she could never sort. During their first few months together, she did all possible techniques in her inventory to use her appeal to get leverage and have what she wanted - freedom. 

Nothing worked. The sexy outfits, the flirtatious dialogue, the bodily careening. For the first time in her successful career, Ayn the Rogue was out of bullets and trapped with an indomitable foe. But hers was a pride that would just not admit defeat. So she's decided to stick it out till she wins.

The challenge of attraction aside, it was a good partnership. They were both adept at what they did and no temple in the desert was left unraided by the rogues.

And that's how the desert minx who jumped from one affiliation to another every week or two eventually got tamed by a single partner for as long as six months. Jeff's platonic outlook towards her had defeated the best attack Ayn knew - shrewdness.

That day began with the two entering the tomb. The entrance to the tomb was tricky indeed. But it took no time for Jeff to break the ciphers around it and open it with ease. Ayn's nimble movements outmaneuvered the plethora of traps by the entrance and disarmed them one by one as though playing with a child's puzzle cube.

"Do you still remember that day we fought at the bar?" asked Ayn as they walked inside the dark corridor and past a wooden bridge.

Jeff kept walking for a while. Ayn almost didn't expect a reply. After they got into an opening to a lobby-like cavern deep underneath the desert sands, she finally got her answer.

"You mean the day you got so stupidly drunk, you bet your self?"

It was a very harsh way to put things but it could be none the truer. Ayn nodded, "Yeah. That one. Did I mention any clause that states until when I should be sticking with you?"

"You were the one who specified the terms. You shouldn't be asking something like that to me."

"I've never been drunker in my entire life during that time. You shouldn't even have taken my stupid challenge seriously."

"People give out stupid challenges for a reason," said Jeff with an implied '_because people are stupid' _line included. "You didn't give any clause that states the validity period of that bet. And besides, I'm a gambling man. I know an fair opportunity when I see one." 

The lady rogue bit her lip.

Jeff stopped walking. "Do you want to get out of my sight that much, Ayn?"

The she-rogue was caught by surprise. She never expected him to be asking such a question. It was almost sympathetic of him, which by experience was, something that was not to be expected of the enigmatic partner. There was, however, a hint of disgust in his words and Ayn knew that she had gone to a topic that shouldn't have been touched at such a time.

Jeff laughed heartily. "So that's what's been bugging you?"

"And what if I really did want to break loose?" replied an annoyed Ayn.

The he-rogue smiled. "Well, I suppose we cant help that. However, I'm a gambling man. You still lost that second round. You'll have to buy back your freedom."

Ayn went ahead of Jeff with her torch, probing for traps each step she took. She turned to Jeff and said, "And how much would that cost me, O proprietor of mine?"

"Mahamouti's pendant."

The two rogues stopped walking. The pendant was something almost legendary. It was a pendant that was said to ensure that one's destiny would come true no matter what. And it was what they had been searching for in that temple.

Still incensed by the challenge of bringing Jeff down, Ayn nodded. "Fair enough."

The path went deeper down the maze of caverns. Inscriptions on certain tunnels where their only guild to where they were going to find the pendant. After a good ten-minute walk, Jeff finally broke the silence and filled the caverns with his voice.

"For what it was worth, I enjoyed your cheeky and sometimes ridiculously forward personality," he said as he carefully navigated the steps in front of him with his torch in hand, "I thought you did enjoy my company, too."

Suddenly the temple felt hot and cold at the same time. It was the first time Jeff had said any complementary statement to her. Not for her looks, but for her personality.

And perhaps, just then, Ayn had come into a strange realisation that she too, enjoyed his company. For the first time, she was a partner that performed an equal task with her teammate, and not just some muse-for-a-rogue that got carried around for show. Here was a man she could not read but could read her every move so well. And that he counted on her for real was something too."

"There's the pendant," Jeff pointed out a shining object resting on a marble pedestal in the middle of a large hall filled with ancient inscriptions and lofty grit-lined pillars that connected to a domed ceiling in a floorspace about the size of the Sanctuary, the largest cathedral in Prontera.

"Yes," Ayn smiled and whispered to herself, "and there's my freedom."

She walked forward and smiled, "I'll get it. It's my payment, right?"

At that time, Ayn was already in deep thought. She started looking back at her past partners and how different it was from her and Jeff. They really wouldn't even compare. "Is this what I really want?" she thought, "Is freedom still the best treasure me?"

The path leading to the center was unusually safe. There were no protruding buttons or tripwires or light sensors. She grabbed the glistening object by the center and waved it as a sign of success. Jeff smiled at their prize.

Then, all earth seemed to contest their victory. The cavern began to throw chucks of rocks from the ceilings. Mahamouti's tomb was collapsing. Jeff dashed for Ayn and grabbed the half-ecstatic rogue by her hand. 

The two dashed to where they have entered with utmost speed. Ayn clutched Jeff's hand harder. It felt warm. Even when they were near death from being trapped underneath the desert sands. Soon enough they reached the bridge by the entrance. She then felt a strong tug as she was catapulted up to the entrance of the temple. Her eyes were blinded by the smoke.

The corridor behind them collapsed and sunk to the ground in one grandiose bang of destruction. Suddenly Ayn found herself outdoors with the bright sun pelting her dust-covered face. There was a clear tinge of gladness in the rogue's eyes. She turned to greet her partner in delight but found him nowhere. She looked backed at where they came from and saw a ghastly abyss only a few steps away from where Jeff had been. 

"Jeff? Jeff!"

Ayn's heart started pounding violently. She remembered the final tug before the collapse of the place. Could it have been...

This shouldnt be happening!

"Hey! I'm not dead yet," a voice came out from the dark hole. "But the pendant's over there!"

The she-rogue went nearer and saw a non-descript hand clinging to the very edge of the fissure. It was Jeff, barely hanging on for dear life and with his injured right hand pointing to Mahamouti's pendant slowly sliding with the remnant sands heading towards the hole.

It then came to a choice between Jeff and the pendant of freedom. One would have to be lost.

The pendant was slipping and Jeff's grip was not forever.

Ayn finally made one of the hardest decisions of her life. In the blink of an eye both the pendant and the rogue fell from their latching.

But Ayn's hand was there to catch Jeff's. Jeff's face was that of surprise. At the strangest possible moment, she had managed to surprise the enigmatic Mr. Rogue. His life was thought much precious than the legendary pendant. And by a rogue, no less. Quite a surprise indeed.

"You could have gotten that pendant. And you could have paid me for your freedom with that."

At this point, Ayn could no longer contain her dissatisfaction with Jeff's reaction. "But YOU could have died! What good is the damn pendant if I don't have anybody to give it to? Moron!"

"Then all the better," said Jeff still looking down on the pit beneath him, "You keep the pendant and you get to leave me here. You're a rogue. You should take every opportunity that crosses you because it probably will never cross you again."

After Jeff finally got out of the crevasse and up on his feet, he stared at the deep blackness behind him. Ayn stopped her verbal buldgeoning too. She was too exhausted to speak.

"Well, there goes the last pendant of Mahamouti's treasure. You got nothing to pay me back." asked Jeffrey in a formal, dead-out-of-the-woods voice as he stared at the remnants of the wooden bridge still falling off the dark base of the ravine. Ayn did not speak. There was no answer even in her usually expressive face.

The she-rogue stared at Jeff with a poker face. Jeff stared back for a while and then closed his eyes and shrugged. "But I guess you've been useful to me quite enough. I think I'll just let you go and let your companionship for the past six months as payment."

Once again, Ayn was caught with surprise. She never thought he'd be letting her off for nothing at all. Even with his reasoning, it sounded all to implausible. "W... wait! We can't just end our bet just like that!"

Jeff started walking away form the ruins. "Yes, we can. The bet is done, right?"

"No! We're rogues. A rogue has to get what he's won. Else everything becomes meaningless!"

The winds of the desert picked up for a bit, blowing sand between the two rogues. Jeff stopped. He reached for the pockets of his pants and took out something.

"You like to take chances right? Why dont we just let our odds decide for us this one time," challenged Jeffrey as he held his prewar-mint lucky charm, "rogue style."

_By way of the gambler, dispute is often left to lady luck, by a card, or a coin toss, or some absurd wager to beat any conflict reasoning that often ends up in confusion. _

Ayn hesitated for a moment but a slim chance beats having to work with nothing at all. She tacitly smiled, bit her lower lip and replied, "Draw." Jeff held out both of his palms half a meter away from Ayn with the coin resting on the right hand.

"Pick the hand with the coin and you're staying with me. Wrong choices says we won't be seeing each other again in a very very long time, if ever."

Ayn began nodded, causing sweat that had accumulated on her forehead from all the running to trickle down her porcelain but grimed skin. How the hell did it come to this, she thought. There she was, staring at the only man she could trust in growing old with and yet, between them was a gamble whose odds seemed to stake on their very lives.

Pressure.

Pressure! 

**PRESSURE!**

In less than a blink, Jeffrey overturned his hands and closed his fists. It was too fast to follow even for a rogue. There was no way Ayn could have seen where the coin went.

It was her turn now.

And there was no cheating her way out of this gambit.

So Ayn closed her eyes, smiled and pointed her index where her heart felt lady luck was dwelling.

No hesitations, each day a new adventure.

"Right," Ayn enthusiastically answered. "I pick your right hand."

Jeffery's poker face faded into that of extremely restrained dismay. The problem with his gambling problem was he could never back out of a deal, no matter how much both sides wanted to reverse the decision. Respect for lady luck's outcome and respect for life, that's the way of the gambling rogue, thought Jeff.

Ayn felt the seriousness of the situation but did not bat even a bit. Her heart did most of the talking as it furiously beat the walls of her fleshy existence. She bit her lip and awaited the result.

Jeffery slowly unfurled his fingers.

First to escape from the gaps between Jeff's fingers were the shining rays of the light as reflected by the golden coin. Lady luck was not so much of a bitch after all.

Ayn launched herself into Jeffery without even so much as a word said. It was one of those rare moments that no word could define without spoiling the perfectness. Their lips locked, sending shivers down both their spines as no kiss could have done before.

"You took the bet knowing that we could have lost each other in the process? Why do you like making bad best like that?"

There were tears in Ayn Halley's eyes. Even she could not explain what she had done, "Because I... I... love you."

_I love you. _

Those were the last three words that Ayn could ever have thought of saying that day, that day they finally decided to raid the Temple of Mahamouti in the north-westerly dune range of Sograt. It was a perfectly ordinary Moroccan day - hot and arid. Why she eventually spilled those words was still beyond her explanation. 

Still embracing Ayn, Jeff unfurled his clenched left fist behind his new girlfriend. And from it fell a coin most similar to another, into the sempiternal desert sand where it shall never be found.

And beneath the gloves of the ecstatic huntress? The Mahamouti pendant that was never lost. Nobody ever said anything of the pendant being of twin necklaces.

Nobody ever did.

"You owe me your life, rogue" teased Ayn as she propped Jeff's crippled walk away from the ruins.

"And what would that cost me?"

"Sorry," Ayn kissed Jeff in his right cheek and whispered, "It's not up for bets."

There are some things in life that can only be decided by chance.

Whether or not you let go of your destiny when you see it isn't one of them.

The End.

**Chance by Redkinoko**


	4. Letting Go

Letting Go by Redkinoko 

The cyclic ticking of the clock tower ruled over the silence of Al De Baran that night. No winds blew from the mountainside and the streams around the city were in tranquility. The rhythmic beating of the gargantuan timepiece almost sounded like heartbeat -forever cadenced and never changing. Much unlike the human heart, a heart that speeds up and slows down its beating along with the rhythm of the soul. 

The changing heartbeat. 

A forever testament to our humanity. 

Monica picked up a loose little cobble from the roadside as she walked towards a nostalgic bridge overlooking the clock tower. With one energetic hop, she saddled herself atop its baroque railings and let her legs dangle over the moonlit waters beneath.

The young huntress let out a big sigh while she staring at the illuminated arms of the clock. 

Fifteen minutes before midnight. 

It's been exactly three years since that night. 

That night she made a promise with someone special.

From behind her, a figure emerged from the shadows. A young mage a few years older than the huntress walked towards the huntress and leaned on the railings, facing away from the tower. 

Monica took a deep breath and threw the rock on the water. The rock skimmed the surface, bouncing thrice before sinking to the murky depths. 

"It's been three years," said the huntress in a manner most calm. 

The young man replied, "Has it? Come to think of it, it has been quite a while."

Monica crossed her legs. "I never thought I would really be coming back to this place. After you left, I really didn't know what to do. I said my piece with a most unfavorable timing. I suppose we were both confused then. I never felt so alone in my entire life. The very first person that I loved was gone and I didn't have anyone else."

"I had so many thoughts that time. So many dreams. I knew deep inside that the only way to fulfill those dreams was to join the guild of the war mages. What I did was a most selfish thing. I thought I could find happiness by seeking it. I was wrong."

The huntress got up from her position and stood beside the mage, both arms lazily rested on the railings. "What's done is done. I've learned to reconcile with my past. I came here tonight because just I wanted to fulfill that final promise."

The man closed his eyes and felt the air that was starting to blow. The cool wind from the mountains brought with it memories. Memories of better days. "I should never have left."

"I know that no matter what I would have said to you then, no words would ever change your mind. You always had the spirit of a vagabond in you, adventurous and carefree," said the huntress as she was smiling while staring into the starry skies, "That's what I liked about you." 

"To late in my life did I learn that the only way of attaining happiness is through sharing it. I thought about you always. I thought of you each time I saw the sun and felt the wind."

"When you let go of my hand and promised that we will meet again here three years hence, I already knew that this would become a most bereft occasion, no matter what happened. I spent three years preparing for this night," said Monica in a sad tone.

The mage finally looked at the girl with eyes most affectionate. "But it doesn't have to be that way. I came back because I learned the hard way that what I was looking for wasn't out in the bloodied fields. The elusive peace that I was chasing for three years was in fact in the hands of the person that I had left. I came back because I want you, Monica."

Tears started welling in Monica's eyes. She stared at her reflection on the pool below. "I just want you to know that I love you now as I had loved you then! But what we have between us is a love denied by fate. My beating heart keeps on calling to an unanswering heartstring..."

The young man put his arms around Monica. "I love you, Monica. You need not suffer any more. I am here for you now and I will never leave you."

Crystalline rivers of lament formed on both of Monica's rosy cheeks. Tears flowed down and dropped on the stream's surface, causing ripples to form on what would have been undisturbed waters. 

"You should forget about me. Maybe I should, too." 

The clock struck twelve. The bells of the tower tolled in sync with the ticking clock. The sad tone of the midnight mark filled the city with an atmosphere of heaviness. 

The young mage stepped away from Monica, awe struck with what she had said. No words would come out of his mouth. 

The young huntress tugged a glimmering pendant out of her neck. It was a pendant that he had given him when they first met. She closed her teary eyes and threw the thing in the water. It didn't float or skim. It sank as if it was its only purpose of existence - to be forgotten. 

The huntress then started walking away from the middle of the bridge, head up high with mettle stronger than elune. 

The mage finally got the courage to follow. He ran and threw himself into her back. Instead of feeling her warmth he ended up hugging nothing but thin air. He passed right through her.

It was only then that he knew what she was talking about. She probably didn't even know he was beside her.

Monica felt the cold wind that suddenly brushed against her body. For a moment there, her heart raced frantically. It wasn't from the mountains or from the streams. She smiled to herself. "I knew you'd be there. And I thank you for listening this time around. Goodbye, Jeth. I lied. I can never forget you."  

The tolling of the bells finally stopped. The town was at peace once again, with only the ticking of the clock to be heard from anywhere. - Forever cadenced and never changing. Much unlike the human heart, a heart that speeds up and slows down its beating along with the rhythm of the soul. 

The changing heartbeat. 

A forever testament to our humanity.


	5. Rainfall

**Rainfall (by RK, co-written by healsformeals, inspired by a certain RB'er)**  
  
_I don't know about you but I really like the rain. _

_  
I like the soothing, beating sound that it makes as it lands on everything under the heavens. _

_  
And the refreshing, moist air that it brings._

_  
And the shivers that it brings each time a raindrop falls pelts your vulnerable skin. _

_  
It's sudden downpour and its most subtle cessation. _

_  
The way it surprises us with its occurrence. _

_  
The fact that we really never know when it stops._

_  
In many ways it's just like love._

  
Nine o'clock in the evening. Yes, it was already nine when I last checked the clock hanging above the counter. Most players had already gone home. But not me. There's no way in hell that I am braving the raging storm outside. No. I'm staying in my dry little piece of paradise till the angry weather gods satisfy their desires to make my life miserable.   
  
I just went on mindlessly clicking away at the monsters that came my way. It's always sunny in the land of make-believe. For me, my perfect life is inside the game. No worldly problems can ever follow me inside. Everything was opposite of real-life. I'm rich, everybody wants me (or rather my priestess tagging along with them) and best of all, I am always with the one person that I felt I could never be with as more than a friend in real life - Aaron.   
  
Tempus fugit - time flies. Another two hours passed and I found myself playing alone inside the cafe. The storm didn't even show signs of flinching. In fact, the whole thing seemed to gock at me as the winds simply blew harder. I turned to my right and saw shopkeeper Adrian, who was in fact a really good friend of mine.  
  
"Oy, Monica. It's eleven already. I need to go home." nagged Mang Aids (Mr. Aids, in Filipino)   
  
Still engrossed with my game, I replied, "I don't want to get wet. The rain will make me sick and stuff again. Can't I just close the shop for you when Im through? I've done it a thousand time already. As a personal favor, please?"  
  
"Haay. Sya.. sya... (fine, fine.) I'll leave the spare keys at the counter. Don't let those Ragnarok addicts come inside okay? They're as hard to expel as you."  
  
I gave out a teethed smile. "Why should I when I'm already enjoying the perks of a really fast connection?"  
  
Adrian was already halfway outside when he heard my reply. He opened up his umbrella. "You know, Monica, you will have to go home after some point in time. There's still life outside that friggin game. People might be worrying about you."  
  
"I know... I know... "  
  
Then I heard the shop's chime.   
  
Door's closed.   
  
Im all alone now. 

But not in my world. In the world of Ragnarok, Aaron was still there, power-leveling with me in Glastheim graveyard. My relationship with him is so two-faced, you could almost say that him in-game was another man apart from in real life. Sure, we were also acquaintances outside Ragnarok but whenever we log on to Midgard, its just as if we were so damn close in real life. Maybe it's just because we were both shy.  
  
Ok...  
  
So maybe Im the only one with the shyness. Truth is, I have a crush on him in real life. But he really didn't look like the type who would find a girlfriend in a shy, introverted geek like me. That's probably why I never really took the chance to tell him how I felt about him.   
  
Maybe it's the anonymity that comes with the game that aids my side. In-game, we would talk about all things for hours and hours: from week-old barbeques from our canteen to rumors of brewing relationships between friends to the next alternate job classes. Time indeed flew by when you're having fun. Whenever I was playing with him, I was indeed "happy".  
  
In real-life, it's quite the opposite. We would talk with each other only if we really needed to. The fact that we were surrounded with basketball-billiard-drag racing aficionados who knew nothing about RO at school worsened the gap. It felt like there was an invisible wall between us. A wall that can only be bridged by the game.  
  
**(From Lazarus-Sigma): Ur still playing in Mang Aid's cafe?**  
  
I tried to type in during my free time while avoiding the clutches of zombie prisoners and skeletons.   
  
**(To Lazarus-Sigma): Yeah. I don't want to go out in the rain.****  
****(From Lazarus-Sigma): Meaning, if the rain doesn't stop, you'll be forever here too?**  
  
I stopped to think of what I was going to type. If only I could control time and weather. I'm gonna wish that the rain would never stop so the two of us could forever be playing in the world of make-believe.  
  
**(To Lazarus-Sigma): **  
  
The enemies where somewhat scarce at that time. We were both low on SP so I decided to sit it out for a while. His character followed suit. For the first time that night, both of us couldn't think of another object of conversation. Silence reigned for what seemed to span forever.   
  
Could there be clouds in my paradise too?  
  
Finally, he broke the maddening silence.  
  
**(From Lazarus-Sigma): Mon, I need ur advice****  
**  
An advice? Well that was a first. I chatted with him a lot but never did he ask for advice. I eagerly awaited his next ma  
  
**(From Lazarus-Sigma): It's about this girl.**

A girl? My heart raced frantically. Could it be that he's already considering somebody else? I felt my chest contract, which made breathing somewhat hard.   
  
**(To Lazarus-Sigma): What about her?  
(From Lazarus-Sigma): A girl in school that I've been dating told me last night that she liked me.**   
  
I felt something taking over me. Another me had overridden my basic instincts and started typing words that I really didn't feel like sending. Like some horror movie where a ghost possesses the protagonist, I could only watch at the way I took the conversation on.  
  
**(To Lazarus-Sigma): And how do you feel about it?  
(From Lazarus-Sigma): Confused.   
(To Lazarus-Sigma): Why? Do you like her too?  
(From Lazarus-Sigma): Yes.   
(From Lazarus-Sigma): But then again there's this other girl too.   
(From Lazarus-Sigma): I like her more. But I don't think she even realizes it.  
(From Lazarus-Sigma): I'd be lying if i say that I like the one who already said her feelings.  
(From Lazarus-Sigma): But the one that I really like gives me so much room for doubt.**   
  
Another girl? Now I learned that I had to contend with two instead of one. They're probably one of those batch beauties. Aaron isn't really a hard person to not like. Looks, personality, brains. A dream barbie's ken, indeed. So the second girl takes him for granted? I then remember a line from a popular song.  
  
_Binabasura ng iba ang pinapangarap ko. (Other people throw away what I can only dream of)_  
  
**(To Lazarus-Sigma): Follow your heart. Try to put her down softly. Better break her heart with the truth than to poison her future with a lie****  
**  
I was starting to feel might uneasy. I couldn't go on pretending to not be affected. I was a bubble on the verge of bursting. Was I poisoning my future with a lie? Or was it a truth?  
  
**(From Lazarus-Sigma): Thanks. It's a good thing that you're always there.**   
  
The rain outside started to really dish it out on everything beneath the clouds.   
  
Should I tell him? Should I really? He already has so many problems right now. If I really am his last safe outpost, then I could really shatter our friendship. But what about my feelings?  
  
I took one deep breath.  
  
**(To Lazarus-Sigma): Aaron I have something to tell you.  
(From Lazarus-Sigma): What's up, Mon?**  
  
A long pause followed that. I couldn't reply. 'Twas my last exit. My last form of escaping a situation of great uncertainty.   
  
**(To Lazarus-Sigma): I like you. **  
  
There. I finally did it. In the middle of GH Graveyard. Around all the flesh-eating zombies. I told him point-blanc of what I felt. I closed my eyes and thought about what I had done. He had stopped moving. No replies from him either.   
  
**Guildsman Lazarus-Sigma has quit.**  
  
Alas. Not only did lose the one that I love to some girl who wouldn't even love him back but I also lost a good friendship. All because I had too speak my piece. Water started forming around my eyes. Heavy regret fell upon me. Then self-guilt.   
  
**(Lazarus-Sigma)There is no character that goes by that name.  
(Lazarus-Sigma)There is no character that goes by that name.  
(Lazarus-Sigma)There is no character that goes by that name.  
(Lazarus-Sigma)There is no character that goes by that name.**  
  
I found myself banging in the message "Joke joke joke!" on the keyboard repeatedly to no avail. I wanted to take it all back. His character was no longer beside mine. I covered my face with my hands. I could no longer hold back the tears. I turned the PC off. Only the sound of the rain beating on the iron roof could be heard now.   
  
_The beating of the rain.   
  
The fact that we never really know when it stops.   
  
In many ways its just like love._


	6. Rainfall Epilogue

**Epilogue (can I really call it that?)**  
  
It was already two in the morning. The rain didn't want to stop. Somehow, I also didn't want it to. All computers were already turned off. My mind was completely blacked out. I found a sudden distaste for playing the game again. The feeling that things can never return to the way they were after that night made me refrain from that which I loved doing the most.   
  
I realized that nothing better would happen to me there so I started locking up the whole place. As I walked out into the shop's shed, padlocking the iron gates that secured what used to be my most favorite place in the world, a cold blast of wind forced rain into my direction, soaking me from head to toe. I turned away from the incoming rain but looked back into the distance.   
  
Somebody was standing in the middle of the tempest, unmoving and facing towards my direction.  
  
Knowing that I was already wet and driven by my own curiosity, I started walking toward the figure.   
  
It was him.   
  
Rain-soaked Aaron, with tears in his eyes. Hardly evident, they were, as the rain washed away the salty fluids of both happiness and sorrow. But I knew those were tears. It wasnt everyday that you would see men as stalwart as him cry.   
  
As I got close enough he ran towards me and embraced me tightly. To tell you the truth, the feeling was surreal. Something out of a dream. I forced myself out of the embrace and took a good look at him.   
  
"What made you come here?" asked I.   
  
Aaron gave out the best smile that I have ever seen in my entire life. "I just wanted to thank you for making the decision so much easier. My heart is no longer filled with doubt."  
  
And with that he brought me close to him once more. The rainwater was cold but the warmth that came out of our unison surpassed it. He looked at me with gladdened eyes whose pupils reflected the happiness of mine. Our lips joined together as the storm went about its business. We were in the middle of the street, kissing my first kiss. Rain was falling all over and the water in our feet was rising but it didn't matter. I like rain. And I'm not afraid of it anymore.   
  
_I don't know about you but I really like the rain.   
  
In many ways its just like love. _  
  
**The End.**


	7. Concerned Mother

Concerned Mother by Redkinoko

Joven cusped his hands and exhaled between them. The warm air turned into mist in the chilly November air. Even the Pecopecos were feeling the damp darkness that seeped down to one's bones.  

"God, I hate patrolling on nights like this!"

His female ridingmate extended a lighted torch near him. "Warm yourself with this. Well, somebody's got to draw the short straw. There are days when the gods smile upon you. This just isn't one of those days."

The roads that linked Izlude and Prontera were not only cold and dark. Its woody hedges also provide perfect cover for crime, making it one of the most notorious strike points of bandits in the kingdom. The influx of trade between the holy capital and the Albertan Consortium proved to be too lucrative for the thieves to pass on. The increase of the number of incidents the past few weeks forced the Pronteran Cavalry to send out its knights for patrol in the area. Unfortunately for Joven, he was assigned to do patrols during the deadest moments of the night.  

"I tell you, Jill. If it weren't for those blasted, spineless bandits, we don't even have to stay out like this."

Jill chuckled and picked up the riding pace. "Thinking of the warm fireplace that you're missing again, aye? Let's just get this over with."  

The road was long and the night could only grow deeper. Very few caravans ever pass the roads during that time of night. Other than the howling of the wind and the chirping of woodland insects, nothing else could be heard. 

Then, just when things could not get even deader, Joven noticed something queer from a distance. A moment later, Jill had noticed to. A carriage that crashed off-road could be seen from a distance. The two hurried to the scene.

The two pecopecos that were pulling the load were both dead, with a multitude of arrows piercing each head. It was obvious that this had caused the crash. Standing alongside the wreck was a woman dressed in lavish Albertan overalls. 

The knight drew his sword as he got off his ride. "What happened here ma'am?"

The woman cried and told the two that bandits had indeed attacked the carriage. She nervously explained that her baby was carried into the woods by her husband as they tried to evade the blood-thirsty thieves. She then pointed at an obscure path into the woods when Jill asked where the baby was taken.  

"The bandits may still be lurking around. Stay here and cover me, Jill. I'll go look for them."

The boring cold night was starting to heat up for Joven as he went into the woods. Footprints left in the damp soil indicated a most hurried exodus to the heart of the woodlands. After a few minutes of running, he found a couple.

They were lying on the ground, dead. The ears of the woman were severed, a quick way of getting the expensive earrings on her. The fingers of the man too, were missing. Their shoes were gone and their pockets were inside out. 

The bandits had gotten to them. 

Remembering the baby that the woman was talking about, the knight flipped the bodies of the huddled couple. Hidden underneath the two was a baby, sound asleep and unharmed. The cold would've gotten to it if not for the woman. 

He took the babe and ran back to the main road. Joven found Jill standing alone with the pecopecos. 

"Where is the woman? I have her baby," asked Joven. 

Jill shrugged. 

"She followed you, didn't she?"

Worried that the bandits were also after her, he went back into the woods. After searching a bit, he didn't find her. Instead, he went back to the corpses. 

Then he noticed something really odd. 

The dead woman looked all too familiar.

She was that same mother who had flagged them down. 

Joven returned to his ridingmate with a disconcerted, stricken face. 

"What happened, Jov?"

**~The End.**

Disclaimer: The plot is mostly based on a popular urban legend that I first heard about as a kid. I cannot take credit for it. Domo. 


	8. Trading: Lord Kaho's Horns

Lord Kaho's Horns

Playing in an Internet cafe can be quite the experience. While most people would rather stay at home when taking their dose of their favorite electronic pastimes, the rest of the fanatical population simply don't have the luxury of game play in their own homes. Often, these people would stay for extended hours inside the cafe, sometimes up until the crack of dawn the following day. 

Enter Mario, a typical eighteen-year old addict in the game called Ragnarok Online. 

On any good day, you would see him lining up in front of the Collegian Cafe at Taft while awaiting its opening. Should you visit the place at night, it wouldn't be to surprising to still see him there, eyes glued to the monitor - seemingly floating forever in his own version of electronic cloud nine. 

Now some of you might find such a feat strange. Some of you may not. I guess it all depends how the game has affected your life. 

My story is about Mario and why he no longer plays videogames after an extraordinary night at that cafe. 

It all happened one Saturday evening. The normally jam-packed cafe was sparingly occupied; perhaps some people still have lives outside the game after all. That Mario, our protagonist, was there is already a given. He came in the shop particularly late that time. He checked-in at around noon. What happened earlier is none of our concern right now. 

Let us fast-forward the story to near midnight.  

By that time, The Collegian was almost empty. Mario, of course, was still there. He usually stayed 'till the break of dawn during weekends. It was at that time that the shopkeeper reminded everyone of the midnight mark. 

"Sunday's coming up in a few minutes, people," announced the droopy-eyed lady, "You might want to rest up for worship later."

One of the players did a quick headcount. There were three of them still inside the shop. Feeling rather disappointed with his progress, he took out his wallet, pulled out a few purple bills and called it a day (or a night, no matter.) 

The message was met with zero response from the two remaining players. 

Mario was the type of person who would consider himself as a liberal Christian for the sake of not having to go to church service on Sundays - perhaps just as an excuse to play more of his most favorite game in the world.

Another hour passed. The shopkeep posted the "closed" sign outside the main entrance and lazily dozed off behind the counter. 

That night, Mario was quite engrossed in player-versus-player action. His performance wasn't too bad. He won a few matches every now and then. Unfortunately, his equipment simply didn't par with his opponents'. 

You could say that there was much frustration inside him, much room for anger, hate, envy and all other negative vibe emotions. 

His loss to a fellow knight of the same level particularly exacerbated him. He banged the armrests of his chair in disappointment. Then, he noticed that somebody had been watching the match. 

"His 'quips were too good."

Mario turned to look where the voice had come from. (His first real movement in hours) Another longhaired young man wearing a black shirt had been standing beside him. 

"I could have taken him," defensively replied Mario. 

The stranger grabbed the seat on the terminal next to Mario. "If it's not too much, may I see your equipment?"

At first, Mario was quite hesitant. The man could have been a hacker or worse, a competitor who was scoping him out.  Figuring that the cost opportunity wasn't as much as getting to boast his items to another player, he agreed.

A look of dismay could be seen in the face of the young man. 

"This won't do. Nope. Won't do at all."

Feeling insulted, scowl-faced Mario retorted, "What do you suggest?"

The man in black smiled. He stared at Mario for quite a while. Mario simply went back to his usual routine of begging for healing in-game. 

"Might I interest you in a pair of Kaho's horns?" asked the stranger in an alluring intonation. 

He certainly got Mario's attention that time. The young man's face was, in fact, glowing with enthusiasm - like a young child when he sees his favorite toy being handed out to him. 

Mario then started to get second thoughts. Could this man be a hacker? 

"Show them to me first," said the doubting youth.

The man in black faced the terminal where he got his seat. He opened up and logged into his account, a knight named "FallingSky".

"No problem. Marius, is it?"

"Mario. And you are?"

The familiar sound of the confirmation bell echoed across the room. They were now both connected. "My friends call me Andy."

He opened up his inventory and lo and behold, there it was. 

Lord Kaho's horns. Not one but two. It was a forbidden item that couldn't possibly exist in the hands of somebody as casual as a normal player. 

Mario couldn't believe his eyes. The feeling was all too surreal. 

"Where in the world did you get that thing?"

Andy chuckled a bit. "You could say that I have connections in all the right places."

Greed took over the enthusiast. His eyes couldn't help turning green at the sight of the single most coveted item in Rune Midgard. 

"What do you want for it?"

Andy closed his inventory window and faced Mario with a delighted face. 

"Join my guild and pledge allegiance to never leave its master."

Mario took a deep breath. Everything that was happening was all to incredible. A pair of Kaho's horns AND a guild with powerful connections! There has to be a catch, though he. There has to be one. 

"You might be thinking of the catch right now, eh Marius?"

"The name's Mario!" said the man in a particularly jumpy voice. His heart was racing. He's playing with the big boys now. 

"So what will it be, Mario? Join us. Together, we shall rule over those pretenders!" shouted the man in black in a boasting voice. 

Sweat drops started to form around Mario's temples. The heat of the moment was getting to him. Not even the cold morning air could lower the temperature inside the place. 

An invitation window popped up on his monitor. It was the moment of truth. 

**You have been invited to join the Lilith's Legion guild.**

Mario weighed in the factors. He could gain everything that he had been dreaming of with one mouse click. And he had nothing else to lose. 

"Join us. We badly need players like you in our guild!"

But it was during the most tempting of moments did Mario only start to think. Why he had been playing the game and what it stood for him. 

Everything that he owned in that game. 

Everything that his character was. 

They were crafted. 

By his own actions and thoughts.

And no one else's.

His mind was made up. He looked at Andy to deliver his thoughts when he noticed something odd. His eyes caught glimpse of Andy's feet. He didn't even have shoes. 

Cloven hooves. 

The man in black had cloven hooves for feet. 

"Madness! This is madness!" shouted the poor young man as he ran haphazardly to the exit. He covered his ears as though he wanted to hear nothing of anything anymore.  

The shouting awoke the shopkeeper.  The other player who was playing on the other aisle, too, stood up to look around the shop. He fixed his white t-shirt and wiped his sweat with a handkerchief.

The shopkeeper scratched her head and asked, "What the hell happened to that guy? One moment he's quietly playing and the next, he's screaming in a mad fit! And he didn't even bother paying!"

The last remaining player shrugged. 

"I don't know. Must have been the heat."

And that was the last time that Mario ever played the game. 

**The end. **

Well, now that I've finished sharing you my little story, that reminds me:

Could I interest you in a good pair of Lord Kaho's horns?

Disclaimer: The Collegian Café is a real Internet café in front of DLSU, Manila. However, contrary to what this fic might suggest, there are no satanic worshipers there that I know of. The place is not haunted and no monsters ever come there to play (except during the times when my Internet connection fails) 


	9. All In A Day's Work

**All In A Day's Work by RedKinoko**

_This short fiction is my pitiful attempt in making a second-person perspective story. And because I was never serious in writing this, you might find the ideas quite disorganized. I'm posting this anyway just for the novelty of doing so. This will probably be the last installment in the short story series. __I would just like to thank those of you who stood by me as I wrote, edited and posted all my stories: Readers, Critics, Editors – Friends. Thank You. I shall be posting one last story a few weeks after this before I finally quit writing fics for Ragnarok Online. It won't be short but it shall bear the same theme of all my stories: Human Emotion._

Sixteen hundred dead in thirteen minutes - the tides of war keep on washing up gangrene upon the bulwarks of your spirits. But you stand strong and face the numbers. You've learned to accept it as something as mundane as the daily meal taken for granted.

**All in a day's work.**

The merchants sell, the blacksmiths forge, the bards sing, and you command countless young men to their untimely deaths for the powers that be. But it's not like you could do anything about it. You are the Cavalry General of the fifth regiment of the Pronteran-Geffen Combine. And you are but a pawn in the staged production that is the Orcland War.

Cavalry General Sixt Von Herr, decorated war hero of the Commodo campaign and the Byalan requisitions. Your legend has long overthrown any room left for humanity inside of you.

Everyday, you wake up in your spacious tent on top of the hill that is the center of the southern encampment. You carelessly waste water to wash that which does not come off. Bathing is a ritual that you see as something that purifies you from the stains of war. You put on only the grandest of iron cladding in all of Prontera. Along with it, a false pretense of invulnerability.

**But you know. **

You know that you're no less mortal than the young men that you command. For the fog of war is the ultimate equalizer. Death is a playful being that toys around with everybody in the field, from the lowly pawn to the exalted king. You wear it, nonetheless.

You go to your command post and roll out the plans. Across your tent you see your men, downtrodden and wounded and hungry and morale-hungry. Three months of attrition has worn their eager hearts out. To you, they cannot be seen as men. They are able arms-bearers, instruments who will wage your war. Nay, not your war but the war of the powers that be. But you know. You too are in it for the glory. For they are watching your every move.

**They are always watching. **

Across the horizon lay the green hell that is the southern fields of Geffen. You look as far out as possible. You see nothing but death and destruction. You see dead greenskins. You see your own dead. You paint a grotesque canvas. You sing a requiem for the living. You peddle passage to the afterlife. War is your trade and death is your mark.

You talk for hours with your cohorts. You receive orders for the next attack and you plan it out carefully. You want it over with and you want it over with soon. Your cohorts make suggestions and you think about each one carefully. Try as you might to minimize casualties, you know deep inside that you're just sending more men to meet their maker.

**That the war can no longer be won. **

And yet you persist. Because you are but a gear in the great machinery that grinds flesh to dust. And you have orders to follow too. And you wash your mind of any guilt of anything that you do.

The great crimson blazes across the horizon. You finalize the plan and you order its dissemination. You send for your mighty fowl-o-war and ride off to meet your men. Heart within, spirits overhead and prayers for the Valkiries' tickets.

You march to the frontlines and send empty cheers for faces who are most reluctant. They didn't want this. Neither did you. And there's not much difference in between. You are all victims of fate.

You signal for the drums of war. The booming cadence that leads men to their shallow graves. You down a shot of alcohol and you kick off your steed to war. From a distance you can almost see their bloodshot eyes inside their green sockets. They have been waiting for you.

You ride on with your men to meet them head on. Arms from the other regiments join in. Another pointless battle of attrition has started.

You thunder across the plains and your men follow your orders like they are the word of God. For they are good soldiers and they are loyal to the throne.

Soon enough, like waves into a seawall, your men collide into the green horde. You fight with all your might and strive to survive. One. Two. Twelve. Thirteen dead greenskins. Your flair for battle never tarnishes. And yet you can feel the hopelessness of things.

You continue on until all hope is lost. Their forces can only grow stronger and yours, weaker. The stench of death reaches deep down your senses. You lift your hands, bloody sword in hand, and signal the retreat. The men flee in terror as the raging beasts of the southern fields pursue with great bloodlust.

**There can always be tomorrow. **

But the gods will no longer allow you to continue on. A rouge arrow pierces your cladding and sends the message of demise to your cold, hardened soul. You refuse it and accept it at the same time. Again, you are powerless to change what has already laid in front of you. You have become the final thread to your grand tapestry.

Cold winds pick you up and gently let you off your steed. You land amongst those who rode along with you. Mud and blood and dirt, in your baroque armor, you have finally joined their ranks. A life lived well for the lives of less betterment beneath you. Only then do the stains wash off. Death is more than willing to wipe them all away.

And there were tears in your eyes.

**Long overdue tears. **

The fires of conflict may burn the glimmer of emotion out but for so long as your heart cadences with the same beat as mine, you can never take the human out of you.

**All in a day's work. **


	10. In Real Life

**In Real Life** by Redkinoko ( a short allegory)

The sun was brightly shining that day, as it would on any other day of the year. Its rays gently pattered down the translucent glass windows of Prontera's central train station, illuminating its broad Victorian halls with serene yellow light. The metropolitan hub was full, as usual, of its regulars who come in the likes of students, soldiers, dreamers and hopefuls.   
  
Along the middle of the sprawling main lobby was a fountain with a bronze statue of a quaint warrior-like figure proudly sitting on top of an oddly shaped creature with seven legs. Its features, along with the horse's, its face, are all but faded already, like a vanishing relic of some forgotten history of more interesting times.   
  
The fountain is quite the popular meeting spot for friends who acquaint each other frequently through the train system that reaches through the far reaches of New Midgard.   
  
Among the waiting people was a young gun-swordsman bearing the bright green uniform of the Izludean Academy of Martial Science. His name is Tristam von Weiller. And today, he was going to meet up with an old academy friend.   
  
A few minutes after the noon bell, a ravishing vehicle came roaring down the autobahn beside the train tracks. It was a red Pecopeco Grande IVT, the car most men have in their dreams.   
  
A young man with a distinct bright crimson hairpiece came out of the car. Most people in the station noticed him at once, including Tristam.   
  
"Oh my Mod! It's Vance Lupinshards, the heavy metal bard!" shouted one of the younger of the feminine mob that started to form around the young man. Tristam on the other hand, gave out a bit of a chuckle as he watched the scene unfold.   
  
And Vance knew that the GSwordsman was watching. He slowly worked his way out of the crowd and ran up the fountain.   
  
"You're late, Mr. Popstar," said Tristam.   
  
The young star retorted with a fatigued voice, "You cant begin to imagine how I can get anywhere in time when crowds follow me around the way flies stalk a poopoo hat."  
  
"Then lets stop wasting time here and start having fun."  
  
Vance nodded, ignoring the screams coming from a sea of people around them. "Let's"  
  
The two hopped on the sleek sports car and cruised off.   
  
"So what brings you to Prontera, Tris?"   
  
Tris locked down his bristling white hair with one hand. "I just had to blow off some steam. Bad day, bad grades, you know the deal."  
  
"Mathematics? Alchemy?"  
  
"History," replied the young academian. "I hate history. It's a subject that's good for nothin. I mean, who gives a thief bug's egg if I didn't know who the last king of Prontera was before the second Ragnarok happened?"  
  
The bard laughed as he stepped on the gas more. "You are such a happy idiot. You don't even know the person you were named after!"  
  
"King Tristam?"   
  
"The fifth."   
  
Tristam slapped his hand to his face, thinking, why didn't I think of that?   
  
"Anyways," spoke Vance, "are you still playing that new MMORPG?"  
  
"_Life Online_ really blows, man." replied Tristam. "Totally."  
  
"But... you're still playing it. Correct?"  
  
The swordsman sighed. It was true, after all. He's hooked and he knew it.   
  
Righteous indignation kicked in for his friend. "I tried playing that game for a few months. I really don't get how you can fall in love with such a crappy game. What kind of game would let its players die without so much a fight just by walking around the towns at night? Leveling up is so damn slow, money is scarce and criminals are so damn rampant. If I might say so myself, the game is so unbalance, it's a ripoff. "  
  
Figuring that resisting the flow of conversation wouldn't feel too good, especially with them heading to the all girl's school of acolyte's, Tristam just hopped along the paradigm.  
  
"Hahaha. The other day, I earned a good fifteen thousand pesos after a month's worth of leveling only to get it sacked by another player while I was walking to the bank."  
  
"I wouldn't be too surprised. Given that opportunities in-game is so scarce and that order is almost nonexistent because of the just-as-corrupted officials, that's almost already a given."  
  
"Yeah. It sucks. But I still play it."  
  
Vance looked at his friend, who was now playing in a rather more serious tone. The sun was starting to set alongside the decaying gargantuan walls that lined the city boundaries.   
  
"Why? Everything is so perfect as it is already. It's always bright in real life. Nobody ever really dies. Nobody's so poor as to have nothing to give. You never grow hungry. Everybody gets equal opportunity. This. This is the real life, my friend. Here and now is the perfect life. "  
  
Tristam nodded. "Yeah. But sometimes, I just need an escape from reality."  
  
"You're wasting your life, dude. I don't think you'll ever get anything good out of that vice of a game."  
  
Silence filled the gap between the two friends at that moment. The roaring engine of the Pecopeco was drowned by the tranquility. And only the sound of the gushing wind broke the unnatural peace between the two.   
  
"Say, have you ever noticed that we don't have mouths?"  
  
**The End.**


	11. In The Beginning

**In The Beginning** by HealsForMeals and RK  
  
_Remarks: Not for the fundamentalist kind.  
_  
In the beginning, before the invention of the wheel, before the birth of the first living creature, before the big bang, just shortly after julie andrews' first birthday, there was a Mod.  
  
Mod was all-powerful but he (or she, for the empowered female readers) was unhappy because he was alone (and not earning money). So, he decided to create a game called Philippine Ragnarok Online.  
  
On the first day of teh pROgenesis, Mod said "let there be light". And there was light. There was still nothing but you could see it. The afternoon bell rang and he didnt want to do overtime work so Mod thought it was all good. You cant see anything but it's all good.  
  
On the second day of teh pROgenesis, Mod said "let there be chaos server. Let it be divided into cities, fields, and dungeons complete with annoying music." And there was uh... what he said. But not even the annoying music made the place feel lively. He then said, "let this place be populated by funny-looking monsters who appear constanly out of nowhere carrying items that they cant use for no reason at all." and so pRO became filled with monsters with funny appearances and just as funny names. The afternoon bell rang and the Mod thought that it was all good.  
  
On the third day of teh pROgenesis, Mod opened up pRO and saw an overabundance of monsters. seeing this, he thought of a plan. He took 10 fluffs, 10 clovers, 9 jellopies (all from the monsters) and a 50 peso top-up card. he mixed them and lo and behold came Nardo, the first jolo.. err.. avatar. Nardo wasted no time in beating the living shit out of the monsters and picking up the item that they carry. alone, he really couldnt do much so Mod created more of his kind. But because only 9 jellopies were put in, as opposed to the 10 jellopies recommended by the Noob's Guide To Creation FAQ, the resulting noobs didnt have mouths. Mod found a workaround by creating 'chat'. Much to Mod's dismay, these creatures when left to themselves hardly talked to each other. So he then made a 'female' avatar by fashioning a noob out of 9 jellopies, 10 fluffs, 10 clovers and a 100 peso top-up card. The 'male' types finally started talking. The afternoon bell rang and Mod called it a day. Oh and yeah, he thought it was all good.  
  
On the fourth day of the pROgenesis, Mod opened up pRO and saw that its citizens have exponentially increased from the original 1000. The monsters became nearly extinct while the 'male' avatars kept fighting over the 'female avatars'. Infuriated by what he saw, Mod created a bunch of copies of the Chaos server, among which, he called one Sakray. "I think this will be my favorite," Mod said. He then went on to add GMs to whack some sense into the uncultured settlers. The afternoon bell rang and the Mod called it a day. It was all good.  
  
On the fifth day of the pROgenesis, Mod said, "let there be a messageboard called ragnaboards where people can talk directly to me." and so the settlers started logging in the site. To make things interesting, he added a forum bug bound to stalk the boards for eternity, assuming different forms across different platforms, just to keep the poster on their toes. alarm bell. all good. you know the drill.  
  
On the sixth day of the pROgenesis, Mod said, "where the did I go wrong? everything is in chaos!" the settlers were angry and the posts in the boards reflected it. in a desperate attempt to stem the rise in unrest, Mod created the Top-Up system. for a while it worked, the jolo.. err... less-gentry were refused entry into his created world. but they just kept on pouring in. even the boards was filling up with filth. so Mod took a bunch of spammed posts and breathed life in to it. he modeled them after his image and called them rfms or mods (with the small 'm'). they patrolled day and night the boards and nuked anybody who dared stain Mod's name. the afternoon bell rang, much to Mod's delight.  
  
Mod looked at the mess that he created and said, "I'm tired of this."  
  
And on the seventh day, Mod increased the experience levels two-fold and three-fold (just to keep the settlers happy for a while), logged-out of his terminal and went out of the office to play Gunbound in the nearest cafe in the next universe - a rewarding rest for a job not-so-well done.  
  
_Healsformeals is the driving force behind half of my stories. Too bad she doesn't write as much as she talks._


	12. Heartbeat

**Heartbeat by Redkinoko**

**A** well-built man of his early forties stood unmoving in front of an empty dock by the Albertan concourse. His appearance made it quite obvious that he was not from around the place. Standing at nearly six and a half feet tall, he had verdant flowing hair and sported a flowing robe of rare flaxen tone marked only by an emblem that read Vardda in Morrocan rune script.

A cold gust blowing in his direction made him reach for a cigarette out of his coat and cozily pop it between the lips of his ruggedly-shaven face. He pat the pockets of his robes in search for matches but unfortunately found none.

A deep, coarse voice then came out of the unusually think fog that surrounded the harbor that morning. "Need a light, Bladegradd?"

The man known as Bladegradd nodded in approval as another towering man appeared beside him with a lighted tinderbox in hand. The man wore a cloak of similar hue to what Bladegradd was waiting.

"You're late, Juroku," mumbled Bladegradd as he leaned forward get a light from the tinderbox.

The cloaked man took out a gizmo from his side pockets. Its lucid circular faceplate was flashing constantly as different inscriptions appeared and disappeared from its semi-transparent side. "Don't worry too much. He's still here." 

"Actually, he personally said that he has been waiting for you," replied Bladegradd after exhaling thick smoke from his nostrils.

Such impudence, thought Juroku. He was a bounty hunter. He was used to chasing after his prey and not them waiting for him. "That beast will be seeing his last sunrise today. You take care of the paperwork and I'll make sure he's on your wall."

"I hope you bounty-hunting bots live up to your reputation. You'll be fighting one of Jugend's best."

Juroku checked his gizmo and scoffed a bit. "From what I've heard, your government wants this feller dead very badly. Why dont you take him down with your own men?"

Bladegradd closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, embers of the cigarette responding with a brighter glow. "He knows too much. The monarchy wants him dead but they're too reluctant to expend more men. As for me, I've made it my personal mission to bring him out of the picture. He's a ghost from the war that should disappear. I hate ghosts."

The hired hand turned his sights on a nearby rigging. "Somebody who's not supposed to appear on historical records?"

The man in the yellow robes nodded. As far as the whirlwind war was concerned, all heroes of ignoble birth should be erased.

"It's good that we're clear on that. Shall we begin then?"

"He doesn't like to wait. You two should get started already."

That said, Bladegradd threw his half-consumed cigarette by the breakwater and stepped back into the thick fog where he simply faded away.

Juroku bit off the strap of his cloak as it revealed a ripped build covered with a tight ebony suit that outlined each muscle in his body. Attached in his hands were viper-class katars that stretched twice as long as the ones used by the Morrocans.

As he was checking the looseness of the leather straps of his weapons he said blankly "I don't get it. You've been staring at us for the longest time now. Why do you not kill that which wants you dead badly?"

A shadowy figure from the nearby rigging dropped to the ground. "Coz he gives me the fights that I need. He knows it."

The assassin pulled down the strange spectacle that he was wearing from its hook in his ear. With one stare at his adversary, readings started appearing through the glass. Why he had to kill this man doesn't matter, he thought.

"A tier eighty-one fighter," said Juroku as he read the readings in front of the unmoving creature. "This should be interesting, beasthunter."

The assassin started to run towards his unmoving target. A thick mesquite cloak was covering the crouched man's details. One could be forgiven for mistaking him for a crouched desert wolf with the outline that he formed in the misty surroundings.

Six metres in range, the assassin switched footing and then disappeared in the mist. The beasthunter finally got up and slid his left foot in a lunging poise. He stepped once too and no layman eyes would be able to see his movements.

A split second later, a loud clash of metal was resounded somewhere between their last known positions. Sparks flew as cold steel clashed with each other. Momentum drained on both sides, Juroku took a step back as his opponent did the same.

Having a momentary break, the hunted dropped down his heavy-looking desert garb. His armor was of well-tanned animal hide that spanned his body from his ankles and wrists up to his neck. He held a staff in one hand and an unusual "S" configuration blade on solid emperium hilt guard on the other. His hair was naturally black, though traces of white strands could already be seen.

Juroku pressed a few buttons located in a box beside his spectacles while sporting a smirk at his opponent. "Like an open book," he uttered to nobody's care.

Beasthunter took the second initiative. He threw his staff aside and launched a vertical slash towards his opponent. But this time, the assassin simple swung his body away from the slash. Having evaded the opponent's attack, Juroku used the blunt side of his katars to hit the beasthunter on his nape.

"The first strike was a test, beasthunter. I can read every bit of your motion now. Technology overcomes human evolution yet again," shouted the assassin.

Beastmaster got up and wiped the blood coming out of his mouth. "You're nothing but decaying flesh held together by machina. Bots can never overcome humanity for as long as there is something called human spirit."

"The sun is almost rising. I'll have to kill you now, human."

And in an almost ungodly speed, Juroku vanished amidst the fog once more. The fallen beasthunter grasped the hilt of his sword harder and closed his eyes.

Pathump. Pathump. Pathump. Pa-pathump!

The beasthunter opened his eyes and lifted his sword from the ground and swung it directly upwards. The assassin reappeared above the attacker in order to parry the swing. He then gave no opening by launching a kick straight at the chin of the beasthunter. His opponent took the kick fully but didn't seem to be perturbed. Beasthunter let go of the sword with his right hand and grabbed the face of his assailant with beastly grace. Unable to move from the position, Juroku could only watch in surprise as beasthunter effortlessly flipped the parried sword towards him.

For the first time in the match, the beasthunter was smiling.

Given the opening that he had been waiting for since the beginning of the match, the beasthunter buried his sword halfway on his opponent's chest and twisted it to expand the wound further. The bounty hunter took a few steps back after landing on solid ground as he futilely tried to pull himself out of the stab. Playing the unbelieving Thomas he looked down and nervously touched his chest. Machine fluids were starting to flow out uncontrollably from deep with in the wound.

"Haah... how could this be possible? I had you worked out already. I was reading every movement that you made."

The beastmaster swung his demonic looking sword in a downward arc to shed the fluids that came in contact with it. "They used to call me Evan the Half-beat. I was born with a malfunctioning heart valve. For that reason, my heart skips beats in an unpredictable manner. It made doing repetitive things such as walking and breathing very hard. In combat, it made it even harder for the enemy to know my timing."

Juroku was starting to cough out the same shimmering blue fluid that was coming out of his body suit. "But I couldn't sense that early on."

"You are nothing more than a machine. Rhythm is everything to you. I was timing my movements according to your rhythm until a few minutes before I got to you. With my heart as a guide to my movements, no man or beast or even machine can read my movements. On the other hand, I was reading you just as you had been reading your own rhythm in me. So now, you vanish," explained the beast hunter as he pulled out his sword from the defeated bot, still standing but no longer able to move.

"Then let this vanquished ask one last question. Why were you smiling when you delivered your blow?"

The beastmaster picked up his desert garb and walked away. But before he left, he replied to his opponent's last question without even looking back. "Because there is a man here in Alberta with enough will to make his heart skip a beat in order to win. I thought of doing the same thing to him."

Juroku, almost out of life force, fell to his knees and folded to a low bow, almost as though paying homage to the victor. A few minutes later, the fog finally cleared to give way to the bright rising sun.

"The human **heartbeat**, how precocious a thing," said the bot as he was finally drained of the energies.

**Heartbeat by Redkinoko**

_Fighting is a delicate, mysterious dance. He who has the rhythm even when the music has died down, wins. _  
- Anonymous Bard


	13. My Immortal

My name is Roland.

I am a bard.

It was neither of misfortune nor of blessing that I was born blind. As a child I couldn't do much because of my impediment. No academy would accept me, who could not even unsheathe a sword or rive a bow or read a tome or count money. I was a failure at everything I tried. I wanted to live normally but normalcy is something that is most often seen and not felt by other means.

It didn't take long before my family with a golden lineage of archers and huntsmen disowned me. Such was a cruel thing to do but I could only blame tradition for that. Mine is a proud lot - a lot whence I have no room.

I learned to live off mendicancy, drifting from one islet of poverty to another even to the point of living with an empty stomach filled with nothing but farciful thoughts for weeks. 

Such was my lot until I was given a second chance by fate.

It was a moonless night. Though I could not have seen for myself, my surroundings told me so from their ubiquitous tranquility. The walls outside Prontera was not the perfect place to be in during the season of coldness but taste comes from a luxury which I did not have - choice.

I heard hurried footsteps come from the direction of the castle gates. It came from a man probably of the same weight group as me. Running a fourth of a league behind him were other men, armoured with suits that chinked for each step that they made.

He stopped in front of me and asked, "Can you play?"

I didn't understand what he said at first. Then I heard him take off something strapped in his body. He held it and out came the sound of strummed strings. The euphony that filled the air was both captivating and hypnotic.

"I'm blind. I can't play, stranger," I politely replied.

The deep voiced sassed in all sullenness, "Well, I'm a dead man already so I can't play too."

From the way he said it, it was as though he was joking. But I could hear his panting, a sound of breathing of an enervated person who had broken past his limit. 

"Take care of my six-string... No. My Immortal Memory. I'd hate to see it die along with me. Love her and she'll love you back."

I heard him toss the instrument and I caught it with both hands. It was a guitar, with a fine-grained finish and savage-hide strings. This was his Immortal Memory and now it shall be mine as well.

Shortly after, the following footsteps ceased and whiz of arrows filled the thick night atmosphere. I heard a grunt from the pain as the arrows landed on their target. Then, a cathartic sigh followed by a thump to the ground.

"He's dead, captain. He won't be singing none of our secret's no more," muttered one of the nearer presences. "Which leaves us with that Terpsichore bitch."

I heard them drag the fallen along with them as they disappeared into the night. Meanwhile, I was left with the guitar.

It was then that I began to strum. It was as though the guitar was alive; that it liked his new master so much, it began to teach me music. The sound that we made together was both spontaneous and ultimately melancholic.

The guitar turned my poverty around. I could no longer consider myself poor anymore. 

People who heard my music where moved by the tunes that came out and gave me money. It wasn't much but it was enough to keep food in my mouth and fire beside me when I desperately needed them. The guitar and I kept a mutual bond between us. He kept me alive as I kept him alive.

Time went on and the tunes turned into compositions that were soon accompanied by lyrics.

I learned to write songs. Nay, my new companion was teaching me songs I wouldn't have thought of otherwise. I could only speculate where they were coming from. From a dream of a past life perhaps?

I didn't know, at least, until three years after.

It was a quiet summer night, much like the night I got my Immortal Memory. Few people ever stopped to listen to my playing during nights because it was neither safe nor comfortable to stand out in the cold outdoors. I played nonetheless and that night, I had myself an audience.

It was a woman, with footsteps light and calculated - like that of a dancer. After I finished playing a nocturne, she tossed a bag of coins into my coin tray and said in a sober, lamentable undertone,

"Play for me and I shall sing for you."

I felt warm energy from my guitar, as though it had been waiting for forever to play. So I position my guitar once more to play, spaced out my mind and played the first thing that came into my head.

The woman began to accompany my music with her heavenly birdsong.

_I'm so tired of being here  
Suppressed by all my childish fears  
And if you have to leave  
I wish that you would just leave  
'Cause your presence still lingers here  
And it won't leave me alone_

These wounds won't seem to heal  
This pain is just too real  
There's just too much that time cannot erase

I felt an increase of warmth around me. As though I was no longer sitting beside the cold castle walls and outside that cold, dark night. For once I felt that I could see. Before I even noticed it, my fingers were playing all by themselves; that I was somehow listening to their song instead.   
_  
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
I held your hand through all of these years  
But you still have  
All of me  
_  
Somehow, the guitar and the lady had some connection I was unaware of. Could it have been him?

When the song ended, there were tears brewing in my eyes. Somehow, I already understood every bit of detail that happened that night. The guitar has finally found what it had been waiting for.

The lady sighed but it was a happy sigh. I smiled at her for I have never heard such a siren voice in my entire life.

"Thank you, bard. You've fulfilled both our last wishes. And now, my searching has come to an end."

I knew it wasn't me she was talking about when she mentioned us. And I was happy for them.

A cold winter wind fell down upon the gates of Southern Prontera. It was both strong and out of nowhere but it only lasted for a couple of seconds. Before I even noticed it, the warmth was gone. And the dancer? It was as if she had never been there.

That was the firast and last time I heard her singing. My Immortal Memory stopped teaching me melancholic songs after that. Instead, we started making songs of lighter emotions this time around - the two of us.

Time is the music to which everyone dances. It never stops, enticing us to forever move into places unknown, meeting and losing and meeting again partners as we go. I too am dancing to this unheard tune - just like each and every one of you.

But long as I have this six-string, I will never be alone.

My name is Roland

And this is my tale.


	14. Solitude

Solitude by Redkinoko 

_We shall be marching on for the greater glory_

_the greater glory of the republic of Schwarzwald_

_in life we may be of service through sacrifice_

_and in death by laying our last gift to you_

The singing of a weary soul echoed across the room. A man of his late thirties was marching to a nonexistent beat, singing along to the hymns of a distant past. 

"Why do you torment me with your repetitive songs?" asked a female voice from the same room.

The man stopped his singing, walked past his makeshift bed of aging hay and replied, "Because it is my duty to never forget."

The female voice's volume grew much louder. "Why do you insist in remembering that which has already forgotten you, Thomas?"

The man looked out of the small window of his quarters. Moonlight pelted his skin with its eerie radiance, radiance stolen from the sleeping sun. Cold wind slashed into his already dried and wrinkling face. 

"The republic never forgets those who have served under its banner."

A sigh sounded off. "Look at yourself, Thomas. You are old and weak and no visitor would ever dare face you. Where is remembrance in that? Nay, where is the gratitude?"

"The war is not over yet. Sacrifices must be made."

The female voice then replied in a more sympathetic voice, "The war is over. It has long since past."

Thomas covered his ears, as if trying to escape inevitable thoughts. "You lie!"

"They sent you here because they no longer have use of you. You have been manipulated all along. You have been serving very bad people," retorted the feminine voice.

Thomas started crying as he slowly sank to a pitiful slump beneath the window. "No! You lie... You lie..."

The comforting voice then replied, "All is not lost, Thomas. You still have me by your side."

The man stopped sobbing like a child for a while. "Will you never leave me?"

"You know I can never leave you," replied the female voice.

Thomas looked above him. Clouds have started to block the moon rays bathing the four walls of his room. Darkness ate up everything around Thomas. 

But the room was no more sullen than usual. 

"Thank you for always being there for me."

"Well, if it would comfort you even more, you can go on singing your songs. I won't mind anymore."

Thomas skulked in the far corner of his stonewalled prison cell, and started chanting the battle hymns of the old republic. He knew that he could never be more well accompanied than in solitude. 

In solitude.

_We shall be marching on for the greater glory,_

_the greater glory of the republic of schwarzwald_

In life we may be of service through sacrifice 

_and in death by laying our last gift to you_

**The End.**

I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers. A man thinking or working is always alone, let him be where he will. 

-Henry David Thoreau


	15. Somewhere Over The Rainbow

**Somewhere Over The Rainbow** by RedKinoko

June 28th, Six hundreth year of the Comodo Breaking  
Operation Orclandspiel

It was at the final battle of the Orgengrad plains that we simply knew the conquest of Orcland was doomed. Megalomanic dreams of our superiors and politics had driven us into the very gates of hell. We were outnumbered by the greenskins five to one while our supply lines lying broken behind us after ceaseless attacks by goblin sappers and Kobold raiders.

Outnumbered and outsupplied and without any order to retreat, we were completely overrun, flank and center. I can no longer remember how many died during that battle. What I do remember was the sea of blood and body filling the once green grasslands that was left in the wake of the advancing Orcish horde. We who had survived when the front lines collapsed thought it lucky that we were able to elude our bloodthirsty foes.

A part of me is still wishing that I died right then and there.

What followed is probably the worst retreat this world will ever witness. What became of us was a river of young men and women who had once fought successfully across vast territories of Orcland. Tides turned and times up, I only saw pitiful excuses for humans who stooped like the aged and walked, if able to, like cripples out of crutches.

Gone was the thought of war in our minds. Broken were our spirits.

We just all wanted to go home.

_Somewhere over the rainbow  
Way up high  
There's a land that I heard of  
Once in a lullaby_

Regiments, squadrons and divisions vanished overnight. What was left were men struggling on a road that took as many lives as the enemies behind us. A comrade of mine who was on the verge of losing sanity even remarked the road that we passed as the Human Remains highway as the sides of the road, and occasionally somewhere along it were bodies of the fallen nobody had enough time or energy to bury. So horrid was the sight that even our enemies dared not pursue us on this road.

Every now and then you'd see soldiers who would unsheath their swords, point it at their throats and just fall upon the ground and let gravity be their executioners. Might it be revolting to you but as I see it, death is a very tempting option.

But not me, I want to return to my home country. God willing, I shall die an old man on grass that grows for no greenskin. I'll die, but without forgetting each second of what I'm experiencing now.

_Somewhere over the rainbow  
Skies are blue  
And the dreams that you dare to dream  
Really do come true _

We came across a makeshift hospital by Grodenkane forest. It was no more a hospital than it was a morgue. One would not be able to distinguish the dead from the living if it were not for the incessant moaning from the pain. The priest in charge barely had a neck left, most of it purplish and being eaten away by maggots even while he was still alive. We saw him make the worst cases drink white liquid from a bottle without so much as a word.

A few minutes after, there was silence.

The scene of death was so complacent it was hard to find a sight wherein one would not see someone dead or dying - Behind us, ahead of us, to the side of the road, beneath our feet and, worse, deep within our hearts.

Even those who were alive were very much aware when they see the valkyries coming. When one is close to death, it is as if the other dead beckon for your company. I've seen men just lying beside the dead and passing away right then and there, one after another, until a dead body turns into a mound of corpses. It's hard to imagine but even if you can do so to a slight degree, it should be the saddest thing that you will ever see in your life.

_Some day I'll wish upon a star  
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me  
Where troubles melt like lemondrops  
Away above the chimney tops  
That's where you'll find me _

I pressed on with the retreat. Hills turned to valleys, valleys into forests, forests into plains - all filled with the desolation that we had brought upon the land. The land that we ravaged now failed to give us the nourishment we badly longed for. Familiar faces disappeared one by one, replaced by other world-worn faces that didn't last too long either. Attachment was to nothing and for nothing.

Still I pressed on. I refuse to be defeated like this. Had I known this was war, I would have never even thought of joining even at the promise of certain victory. Because even if your side wins, somebody's bound to lose and suffer the same lot as I am suffering now.

_Somewhere over the rainbow  
Bluebirds fly  
Birds fly over the rainbow  
Why then, oh why can't I? _

After Orgengrad, we were a sea of souls waiting to be saved. By the time we made it to the thicker forests, I could hardly see anybody walking ahead of me. Perhaps we overtook them at one point or the other, or perhaps there wasn't anybody left to follow anymore.

Deprived of food, water and any sense of hope, we were souls forsaken by God.

It was only a matter of time before I found myself walking alone in grasslands reminiscent of my old town of Nue Geffen. I felt the wind that beckoned me to go home. But maybe some other day. The grass here is soft and the climate, forgiving.

I think I've done my share of living in this world.

At long last, rest.

_If happy little bluebirds fly  
Beyond the rainbow  
Why, oh why can't I?_

**_(Final entry of WarScribe Merryl Lovinshire's journal found beside her body, two kilometers away from Geffen territory. Of the seven divisions of half a million men sent to fight the Orclandspiel, less than ten thousand reached Geffen alive.)_**


	16. Broken Sword

**Broken Sword by Redkinoko**

Ada's bloodshot eyes crowned by warm-chocolate irises dilated in disbelief as the unthinkable started to happen to her. To the more observant, her dirt-clodded cheeks even blushed a little while the minuteness of her china-doll visage expanded along with her wind-sheared rosy lips as her jaw literally dropped.

There was reason for that. There was reason for a seasoned, ranking Lady Knight of the King's Cavalry to be blushing in the middle of probably one of the bloodiest of the Orclandspiel battles yet to be fought.

She stared at her sword - or rather what was left of it - as a steel-shattering swing from an orc had literally broken it into pieces. The shock from the blow nearly dislocated both of her shoulders - they did not, apparently, but it was enough to make a whimper escape in silent pain.

_All things have their limits. Even you. _

Not her Mukairi stance of the Sograt wielders, or her battle mindset, or her troops - not even her steel mettle had failed her. Her sword had failed her. More importantly, she had failed herself.

And perhaps, _he_ was more than correct this time. Amidst the battle, the cries, the death, her wounds and a following swing form the Orcish battle-axe, the knight just had to smile at some forlorn joke - he WAS right. 

But her battle instincts didn't let up. At the last possible moment, she took two quick, overpower steps towards the orc and used the spin of the halved sword from the sword-breaking hit as a momentum to bury the broken blade beneath the leather hide chest armor of the hulking greenskin.

The orc, she could stop. But the axe waited for no invitations. Its ragged blade landed on her right shoulder, strong enough to have dented the rings that formed her chain mail. A popping sound of a dislocated shoulder could be heard form a meter away as both the orc and the knight fell into the Geffenian grasslands, each with a branded blood-curdling scream. 

So, in the end, his point was proven after all, thought Ada as her vision turned milky white. Last thing he saw was his fighting squire coming to her aid. Everything that followed was a stream of recent memories from the back of her head.

-------------

They have had their share of the past. Before he became a smith's apprentice and her, a knight, they were kids who had naught a care in the world.

And once upon a time, they had been in love.

But then, fate has its way of ripping open crevasses from cracks where you're expecting them, _when_ you're not expecting them.

Ada's joining the cavalry forces where she automatically became high-ranking because of her lineage was totally against his liking. She wanted it, he didn't. It was simple as that and the falling out followed the slight disagreement.

That day was the last time that they would meet before she would be driven off to fight in Orclandspiel war. He was, after all, still her preference for forging weapons of war.

Friday Anvil's is Prontera's foremost smithy. It serviced both the poor and the rich and its tools of war are famous among its users and notorious among its enemies. And despite its high profile, it maintained its roots in a lowly single-room shop in the Pronteran Square where a singular wooden board told passersby of its presence.

The knight went to the shop early that morning. Picking up the weapon and chain mail that she had ordered was the last thing in her list of "to do's" before going off to battle. Not that it was a habit or a tradition, part of her just wanted to avoid going to that shop.

Ada wore her usual boilerplate smile when she arrived at the smithy, as she would for any merchant stranger.

And he was there, just waiting for her that day. Ada stared at the smith, his face was nearly black with soot but she could still see his eye bags. She knew him all to well. That that look was the look of a sleepless person who had labored on something of utmost importance. But she didn't mind it anyway.

"Is it a given that smith's don't take baths before facing customers?"

"Sassy as ever, I see," he replied with a glad undertone and pulled out the sword and ring mail from beneath the counter, "your requested goods from this unbathed smith?"

She covered her nose playfully with a handkerchief as she received the items.

"So you're really going off to war again?" the smith asked with a lower baritone, hinting of mellowness as he leaned forward on the wooden counter.

"We've talked about this a thousand times already!" she fired back with feral determination. The reaction was pretty overkill, actually and she knew it.

"It's not yet too late to back out," said the smith.

The knight took the package from him and replied in a straightforward tone of coldness, "It's over."

Suddenly, with those words, the conversation felt as though it was swinging into another direction - a direction Ada wouldn't have wanted to head for. What she had said was accidental and ephemeral so She bit her lip and tried to veer away from the unthinkable.

"You think..." tried asked the smith. Ada's interruption blocked any attempts to do so. She knew all too well where this was going.

"We were young, sir smith," she replied with a raised albeit harshly polite voice, "the past is something that we can learn from - not resurrect."

"The war shouldn't worry you too much. _I_ shouldn't worry you at all," she replied.

"Everything has its limits. Even you." said the Smith as he doused the forge fire with a bucket of water. It didn't extinguish, but it's flame colour changed from red and blue to yellow and red, "it might not be during your first battle, it might not be the battle after that, but you're bound to snap - something's bound to go wrong for sure and you're going to get hurt. I don't want that, Ada."

Ada sheathed the blade back to its scabbard and put the ring mail over her linen undershirt right and slapped her cuirass back on. That won't happen, she thought. She's the best of her rank and with his weapons; she's a goddess among mortals.

"And you've just crossed yours. I'm going to this war and you've done your part already. For that, you have my thanks," she said nonchalantly as she began walking out. The smith followed intently.

The smith was almost pleading but his voice hardly sounded unkempt, "Then at least we should take this over a hot cup of Morrocan roast!"

"I hate coffee with Pronteran sweeteners," she said, "but thanks for the arms."

"You should At least promise me that you'll be returning here safely," the melancholic smith said while propping himself on the door pane, "Do what you're supposed to do then come home. None of that fancy heroic stuff that I've been hearing about you so much."

Of all her ex's, this one's got to be the biggest pain in the ass, she thought to herself. Ada left without a glamorous parting word. In a most casual manner, she replied.

"If ever I come back, I won't be coming back to this smithy."

"Fine! Go get yourself killed!" the smith shouted with what seemed to be shallow disgust while Ada started walking away, patting her new armour where they should fit properly.

And who would have thought she'd be eating her words a good month after that day?

Ada woke up in the Pronteran infirmary one morning. Her squire, Vincenzio was standing right beside her. There was a gentle, unspeakable smile on his face, as though it was the second resurrection of sorts.

"Welcome back, milady," he courteously greeted Ada, "it's been a week already since you got the injury. "

The knight got up from her bed and nodded slightly. She tried to reach for a pat on his head but a sharp pain from her shoulder prevented her from so much as raising it.

"Oh," Vincenzio interjected in a startle, "you shouldn't be moving that yet. Father Francis said you won't be able to use that arm for another month."

It was then she remembered her little encounter with the orc. The memory was of pain, but the thought of his words still made it partly queer.

"You best be thanking your armour maker, ma'am," the squire added, "if it were any other armor, you'd be a lady less an arm right now."

Vincenzio was right. Suddenly a broken shoulder felt hardly an injury.

She stepped out of her bed and slipped her casual shoes on. She signaled for her coat the same way she had done so even before the war.

"Where are you going, mi'lady?" asked the squire as he slowly draped the savage hide coat on the knight's hospital robes.

Ada smiled and replied, "To thank my smith, right?"

----

Friday Anvils hasn't changed even a bit. It's cheeky wooden sign upfront of a grinning masque and an anvil was trademark of the corner smithy of the Pronteran Square that one could easily recognize from a mile away.

"Wait here," Ada said to vincenzio as she entered the Smithy. The squire smiled a smile that could almost be mistaken for a smirk. And perhaps it was a cleverly disguised one.

Upon entering the shop, she was quite surprised that it was almost empty. Almost. Of course, a smithy would always keep at least a smith.

And there was him, Old Man Holg's apprentice at the forge, still hammering blades in a routine manner.

Ada cleared her throat as she approached the counter. The smith got the message and stopped with his dull clanking. His face didn't even looked surprised when he saw her again.

"My sword was broken in battle and nearly got me killed," Ada reported with hints of anger as she unfurled half of a claymore from its leather wrapping, "I want my sword and money back, smith."

"A returning customer, I see. I don't understand what seems to be the problem, missy."

Those words got Ada fired up. He was playing the game ignorance again! It was a trap but she sprang it anyway.

"You made it in such a way so that it would break sooner, didn't you? I'm not too far off in thinking you want me dead."

The smith squinted his eyes at the knight while scratching his head with his tanned right hand. "Are you who I think you are?"

It was almost insulting to Ada, really. But when she thought of it, it was really his first time to see her in a more casual setup since she became of the knights' order - That is, if you could call a coat and a hospital robe casual.

"Could there be anybody else?" she replied.

"I was just kidding, a rose on any vase is just as enchanting?" the smith said as he pulled back from the counter and dipped the glowing sword he was holding into the basin of water beside his crystalline anvil with a vaporous hissing, "Well, swords are funny things. I cannot control the lifetime of a sword. I can make it durable to a certain limit. When it wants to break, it will, and no smith can ever prevent that."

Ada remained silent. But deep inside, she was already in a screaming fit. Of the things she hated in him, it was his clever way segueing from one topic to a closely related one. 

"That," the smith followed up, "is why I make armours harder than normal. So they can always become return customers like you. Negative feedback is hard to come by in the smithing business."

The knight turned away, as though she had just tasted something bitter - something tasting like defeat. 

"But you still didn't answer my question," she replied, "You can't make something too durable but you CAN make something weaker, right?"

There was an indelible smirk on the young smith's face. "Knowing your usual bloodlust at the face of danger? I knew the gung-ho girl I used to spar with would get killed sooner or later if I don't put a stopper on her. And besides, you're a sloppy sword owner anyway. You can thank me saving your life."

The empty smithy felt unconfortably cramped for Ada. Now that he put it that way, she remembered meeting a couple of knights talking about the Orcland campaign going badly sour already on her way to Friday Anvils'. Perhaps he did save him for having done so. And she knew that there was no gentle way that he could have convinced her to not go without becoming target practice in the process.

He hasn't changed one bit. His sly ways and ever-caring personality never left him.

"Hand over your broken sword," he said while trying to balance his newly forged sword on his finger resting at the edge of the hilt, "I think I can still make it whole again."

"I didn't really return here to get my sword fixed. MY fighting days are over." 

"Then what is a perfectly normal dame doing in a dusty old smithy like this?"

"I need to piece back a broken heart."

"Shattered steel only takes heat and a steady hand to mend. A heart, like trust, among many a thing in life, is something that no smith can re-forge."

"Even if he owns it?" asked the lady.

"Even more so," replied the smith. He then resumed hammering a dagger just beside the smith's oven, "even more so."

Ada began walking out of the smoky premises of Friday Anvil's with an throw-away sigh. Well, at least she tried to win this battle, she quietly confided with herself.

"But," a strong familiar voice shot at her from behind with a signature teasing intonation she had learned to smile at. It was enough to stop her from taking the step that would have sent her outside the room. The voice continued, " this smith is always willing to talk it over a cup of warm Morrocan roast."

The lady turned towards the smith, with weak smile filled with hope between the cheeks and watering eyes lost in a recovering past. With an ecstatic, rocky voice half-filled with rapture and nervousness she tried to reply with courtesy.

"I've always wanted my coffee unsweetened."

**End. **


	17. Dead Branches

Dead Branches by Redkinoko

Dead branches - they bear the ill of the once-living and take it out on anybody unlucky enough to encounter and break it, deliberately or not.

My name is Isabel and I am an archer. And this is my story, of dead branches and me.

I started archery under the tutelage of the almost legendary Payon master Lawrence WhittleRouge. He was a known archer throughout the wars and was an even more known master to countless archers whose flair in archery grew under his skillful watch.

Once, during my training, I was separated from the other trainees when I accidentally fell down a slope that was too steep to climb back out of. At first I thought that it wouldn't be any big. Perhaps it could even become an excuse to turn back from archery schooling that I didn't quite want in the first place.

Then, all sense of purpose and leverage vanished inside my head when a man-sized vagabond wolf lurched out of the woods, teeth wet with hungry salivations and eyes filled with killer intent. Its fur still bore marks of dried blood - from previous kills that would soon mix with mine. I could only tremble in fear as it approached me carefully.

Though I didn't see it coming, Master Lawrence appeared out of nowhere and rushed towards me, unarmed with nothing but probably his mastery of the art. The vagabond wolf knew no respect between master and apprentice so it went for both of us in a thunderous race.

At a moments notice, master had managed to draw my very own bow out of my shoulders, take out an arrow from my sack, and still have enough time and momentum to pierce the vagabond wolf's age-thickened skull with a mere shot. The vagabond fell dead and I got the fonging of a lifetime.

That day, I knew I what I wanted to become.

I wanted to become him, the mentor, and save people with what I teach.

A branch breaks off from the tree and falls into the ground after a while. For some branches it happens as early as it's day of conception and for some, after an eternity. But it is destined. It is definite. And it is final. Falling from something is a necessary evil that comes to everybody.

Given the motivation, every lesson came and became naturally for me. I excelled at everything and bested even those who had started before me. I knew at a very early age that I was gifted, and that I had the determination to get what I wanted. No matter what it took, I wanted it.

Master Lawrence saw this in me. And when he did, I knew I wanted to take his place.

I wanted to dare for all of the stars even if it meant forgetting why I wanted them in the first place.

And perhaps, there was acknowledgement in my master's attitude towards me. It wasn't hard to guess with all the additional training I was getting and with all the thoughts he was pouring in that I would soon become more than just his pupil.

When it came to that, time started ticking slower towards my goal. But I could wait. Having waited for such a long time, I could wait. After what seemed to be an eternity, the only thing that was separating me from my goal was the succession technique - the final instruction.

The branch watches its former self wither with time. It decays. It becomes one with the ground. The fallen branch watches everything happening around it. Of good nature and bad. Of fair and ill will. Often, of ill will.

Master's procrastination with the last lesson sucked all reserves of patience that I had in my wits. Everybody else was expecting him to give it to me soon but the soon never seemed to come.

That fateful day, he invited me to a walk into a familiar section of woods that he had often used to teach me in the arts of the hunter of our discipline. There was no real reason for the walk, as he would often say the objective of anything before it was done, being the mentor that he really is.

I finally decided that now was the time to dare for all the stars in the universe.

"What do I have to do to get your final instruction, Master?" I asked with a raspy voice.

"It depends," he said in a serious albeit throwaway voice.

And the ill-will that the branch witnesses, with the pity that it has for itself, creates a force strong enough to nest evil within it - to nest hatred – to nest the very darkness it once made for the good of anybody willing to take shade under the three it was once part of.

"Would you do anything for it?" master asked with a rising tone as though he was mocking my stand as he would have done countless times in the past already - not really mattering whether the position was wrong or not.

I replied whole-heartedly, "Anything."

"Even," he paused and played around with the tip of one of his arrows, "even kill somebody just for it?"

After a while, it becomes a dead branch.

I hesitated to answer. It's true that I was learning a very deadly art. But I was hoping I could do so with the purest of intentions and methods just as clean. Killing somebody for the sake of saving was a concept that I had very little understanding of even at that late a stage in my training. It still sounded all too outrageous to me.

Master Lawrence knew I could no longer answer. He knew my philosophies and how to batter them all too well. My only consolation is probably the thought that my war-weary beliefs might be scarred beyond recognition, but they were still there. So he gave out a sigh and picked out a low-hanging fruit off on of the younger trees. He then stepped a good fifty yards away from me and put it on top of his head.

"Very well, Isabel. With that belief of yours, you should be able to hit this apple on top of my head and succeed my school. If you fail in any other way possible, we shall not meet again and you shall not bear any thoughts of our past again."

Perhaps it was his gambit. Or mine. Perhaps it was both. But I hardly wanted things to end this way.

"Agree?" he asked as his eyes slitted with a wince of a daring mood.

I nodded as I took out the singular arrow on my pack. It was all that I'll need for my cause.

I rived the bow and aimed towards the apple. I felt the wind, the density of moisture, the temperature of the sun, the forces between the bow and my arrow. Master's breathing, my breathing, and the tension of the string - I all took into account.

I focused my energy until I saw nothing but the line towards the apple. I focused on it till it grew in size - till it became so large in front of me, I knew missing would be impossible.

I let go of the string.

The arrow whizzed across the vast emptiness between a smiling Master and me.

But this is not a story for wooden magical twigs found all over Midgard.

It's the story of anything living, of anything once-living.

Silence followed. My heart stopped beating to let my ears listen to the shouts of anything that dared. And it did hear something out of the tranquil madness.

His voice.

"You've failed in taking the apple off my head, Isabel," remarked Master Lawrence as he stared at the failed arrow stuck on the wrinkled bark of an ancient tree a good to steps away from me, "You've failed me for the last time."

I could not believe I had missed the shot. Everything that would have happened after felt so clear in my head, I was sure my last arrow would hit my mark. The word of wisdom, the proverbial pat in the back, the ceremonies, and the succession -everything.

But it missed. For some reason it did. And those things I had in my head were lies. They were lies to a failure and truths to those who succeed.

I would contest half-heartedly, "You moved, didn't you?"

Lawrence took the shiny, unblemished apple out of his head and threw it a few inches away from me, "Tell that to your magical apple with legs."

I was starting to lie to myself and I knew it more than he did.

But this will not be my story.

Inheriting the school had been my goal from the day I stepped into the training grounds as a very young archer. Failure has been a part of my life. And falling from grace. And rising from it. I was not planning on letting go of my goals so easy as a single arrow that didn't meet its mark. I'd accept defeat but there shall be no surrender.

I clutched my bow and held the empty arrow container even harder, "You can't do this to me, master. I'm the only person for this and you know it."

Lawrence turned to me and gave a solid smile packed with an insulting gaze. His was the same look I saw in a rich man blocked by a beggar along his way.

Not while I can help it.

"Sort yourself out, archer," said he as he tossed me an arrow from his quiver and began walking out on me, perhaps for good, "It's obvious you can't become heir to my school of thought with that attitude. You've lost your purpose in life."

I watched the arrow swirl in the air towards my direction in an unpredictable dance of point and tail. I caught it with my right hand but shakingly. I thought I figured out the final piece of the puzzle, the end for which all means strive.

I placed the arrow into my bow and rose from the slump that I had fallen.

Because that's the difference between the dead branch and me, I have legs to get myself up again when I've fallen. When I stop doing so, that's the only time that I truly become dead.

Sort myself? I knew better. And there was nothing that I could possibly lose.

But not while I can help it.

I let go of the bowstring and freed myself of the restraining tears on my weary eyes. He turned at me and for a second there was a quaint smile painted on his peaceful face that tells me of a lesson learnt the only way it could have been.

The bow slipped from my hands and fell into the soft, inviting summer grass wet from the morning dew, followed shortly by my restive knees and even more tears. I only wish I could have shown him my smile of acknowledgement right then and there.

And that I could have told myself that I did have something to lose after all for anything gained.

Perhaps I will, someday, when it's my turn to teach some cocky archer his destiny.

Not while I can, Master.

Dead Branches by Redkinoko


	18. Three Gems

**Three Gemstones by Redkinoko**

**WARP PORTAL!**

It was like a scene from a fairy tale, a mysterious Prince Charming arriving on an arabesque horse to save the princess from the evil dragons. As most rescue scenes were to be remembered.

Except for this case. For Ana's case, things were quite different.

The prince was not a prince and hardly even charming. No romanticized horses in sight, and the evil dragons are replaced by ugly, dimwitted greenskin orcs who took her captive after they found her runaway hide captured by one of their traps.

Come to think of it, there wasn't anything fairytale-ish about the arrival of her ex-guildmate and rescuer priest, Ron, as she watch him stumble his weight down the guard as she dangled idly from her metal cage.

"What the hell are you doing here, Ron?"

"Erm, rescuing you?" said the half-disoriented priest getting up from his solid fall from a warp-portal miscast into midair of the half-empty orcish camp.

"I don't need rescuing."

"Suit yourself. A huntress who fell into a trap; you'll make bitter soup."

"Fine! Now get me out of this rusting lunchbox!" the huntress blared as she violently shook the hanging cage like a wild yoyo.

Ron stood in front of Ana and crossed his arms. "That's what you get for running away, missy."

"Ever the tease, even when people are actually dying around you. Rub it in, why don't you? So where's the cavalry, daring champion of cluelessness?"

Ron shrugged. "I was low on budget so I only had three blue gems in my bag."

As the priest tugged the brown pouchbag open, two gleaming gemstones came into view. "Well, make that two gems."

Ana piffled into unintelligible Payonese ramble. So much for the romantic rescue she was expecting, she thought. He just had to come in with his three, two gemstones.

Ron chuckled as he ogled at the sight of the very infuriated Ana, unable to do anything about her lot. She's even sweeter when she's sour, he thought to himself.

"Take my hand?" he asked. Ana nodded.

**WARP PORTAL!**

A moment's notice later, they were standing at the edge of a familiar ridge overlooking a just as familiar basin of ancient Geffenite trees.

They found themselves at Ron's old mountain house. Where they played as kids before moving to Prontera for training. It was here Ron had returned to after retiring as guild priest. Here is where a lot of things begin and end.

Ron finger combed his hair. A short burst of wind form the gully below returned his bangs into its thrown up configuration. "Did you run away because I left the guild? You got everybody in the Agit worried, you know."

Ana shook her head sideways and pretended not to hear anything. Instead she noticed the pouch still in Ron's right hand. He was clutching it a bit too tightly.

"There's still one gem left. What's that for?"

"Ah," the priest replied as he took out the smallest blue crystal out of the capuchin pouch, "this little one should send you home."

A loud crack nearly split Ron's head in to as a stone-stiff slap almost knocked him off his feet.

Cheek bloated, he turned to Ana, now without the cheer and glint, only with concerned seriousness. "This place isn't safe. I promised everybody I'd protect you."

He held Ana firmly by her shoulders and gave her a forceful push, causing the huntress to backpedal a couple of steps.

"Warp Portal!" shouted the priest, at which point the huntress broke miniscule, held-back tears.

It took a few more seconds for the wind to carry all the silence of obviousness to its peak level.

There was no warp portal.

Not even a gleam of spatial light.

The priest opened his palm and stared at the tiny blue gemstone gleaming gently at the morning sun. Ana looked ever more infuriated.

"Give me that!"

The huntress examined the blue gem and found it very light - even partially sticky. She pressed her index finger on its surface and placed it inside her mouth.

Her face showed that of a thousand surprises.

"Dammit, Ron. This is blue candy!"

Ron grabbed the gleaming confection from Ana's fingers and immediately gobbled it up. Sweet, he unceremoniously noted to himself. "I was beginning to wonder where I put that thing. I really should learn how to budget."

Ana pretended away her silent delight as she turned away to wipe tears from her confused wells of reflected light with her armband. "What the hell is wrong with you, Ron? I don't want to go back to Prontera!"

"Well, I guess there's no way of sending you home now anyway."

Another loud crack echoed across the woods as the fairer of Ron's two cheeks took a just as heavy slap from the huntress. Ron's face deteriorated into a sour expression very quickly as the sting spread across his face.

"Argh! what was that for? Didn't I just your life AND grant your wish of staying away from home?"

The huntress did not reply at once. Instead, Ana's bangs fell like velvet curtains of an ending act. She tiled her head and gently rested her forehead along the delicate ridge just below Ron's nape.

"Because you're wrong, you dumb cleric," Ana mumbled with a faint tremor in her undertone.

The priest felt cool, misty gladness drip into his sweating skin. He smiled and gently guided her fingers between his. He would have said something snappy about it, but the silence of the moment was too precious to waste.

"Home's anywhere you and I meet."

_One blue gem leads me to you.  
One blue gem spirits us away.  
One blue gem to part would do  
But it's your destiny to stay _

**Three Gemstones by Redkinoko**


	19. Mistaken

**Mistaken by Redkinoko**

(I just woke up this morning wanting to write something light and short. 30 min of scribbling and this is what I come up with. Enjoy )

A lord knight in bristling heavyplate cuirass walked up a grasscarpet slope overlooking the open inland sea of Geffen. He stared at the lone tree by the edge of the bluff and saw a man hanging out on a man-sized roughhewn rock beside it.

Just as the information indicated, Prontera's most wanted rogue really was staying here.

As the knight closed, he soon came to realise that if not for the tell tale red fade of the man's cloak, the young man in front of him wouldn't even suit the part. He looked fifteen though the records say he's already twenty-one. His face had this sort of aura, Watou wasnt able to make it out then, some sort of childish innocence in him.

Not that it mattered. The lord knight continued his approach and touched the cradle of his heritage katana. The rogue took notice by turning his head to his side and grinning in acknowledgement but made no attempt to make haste any escape.

"My name is Watou Naginashi. You're Dillinger the rogue. You know I've come to arrest you right?"

"So you're the Watou they've been telling me about. The infamous lord knight who's sent more rank-A criminals to Izlude's dungeons than the entire Pronteran constabulary," Dillinger shrugged and turned his head away from the knight, "A rouge like me obviously cant compete with that."

A bit of flattery swam in Watou's head, but he was composed enough to not let it get to him. He smiles and asks one of one of the few questions where the answer hardly matters,

"Is what they say of you true?"

A nonchalant Dillinger got up from the rock where he was resting and asked, "What is?"

"That you're the fastest rogue around here," replied Watou.

"I'm not sure," the rogue replied, "but I sure am faster than a lot of other people."

"Anyway, I don't care. You're a common criminal that needs to be dealt with."

"Maybe if I can win a fight against you even without this sword," the man called Dillinger said, "you'll let me walk out of this hill? I mean, I've no intention of hurting you."

"Maybe," Watou shrugged. This job was becoming less an arrest than it was a dare for Dillinger. But, a criminal without a sword should be easier to capture than somebody with one, so he might as well play along.

The infamous rogue stretched his arms vertically and got up - he was much taller than advertised, thought Watou but it's not like that would do much to help the man get away from him - though Dillinger hardly looked like he was trying to. Dillinger passed by him with a complete happy-go-lucky expression with his arms crossed behind his head and didn't even bother to meet him eye-to-eye. The rogue walked to the edge of the cliff overlooking the inland see and held out the sword into the bluff.

Watou didn't speak and instead waited for Dillinger. If the rogue was indeed as fast as people from the towns said, he needed to be twice as responsive to any attack. Watou waited for any sudden movements from the man with a deceptive-looking smile.

But the attack never came. Dillinger simply let go of the sword and allow it to fall. He even squatted down the edge to see it plop in to the ocean with an unheard "there you go" traceable from his lips. Watou rushed to the side of the cliff, though a good distance away from his target to confirm it. He was left in disbelief. There was no need to act all composed anymore.

"You threw it away! Hahahaha!" Watou kept on laughing to his hearts content. This is definitely the weirdest fight he's ever been, "I can't believe it. How do you expect to fight now?"

Dillinger tried to restrain his own laughter which came in short, muffled bursts.

"You know what's even funnier?" the rogue asked as he watched gentle ripples forming minute circles on the seafoams by the cove, fingers acting as a visor to protect his wondering eyes from the sun. There was definitely no way of getting the sword back now.

Watou just kept on laughing for a while till he whizzed one and felt exhausted. He looked at Dillinger with a painfully widened smile and asked, "What?"

The rogue turned to his side, exposing a very familiar louyan sword Watou could have sworn was at the very bottom of the sea by now. He pointed at the sea below, still bursting with laughter.

"I realized it just now. That wasn't even my sword!"

**End. XD**


	20. Silent

**Silent Words by RedKinoko **

_She was born mute, as was her mother, her mother's mother and even those who came before them. It was a curse in the bloodline that she had to live with. Silence and solitude were her bosom siblings. But the was not a curse for naught. With the curse came a gift; there was something in her that allowed her to speak loud and clear to anybody who could listen - she could dance, dance like no other in Midgard. Whenever she danced, everybody knew she had a voice more beautiful than anybody. She was, more than anything else that she could have been, the gypsy dancer._

Seventeen year-old Merryl placed her favourite silvercrusted waterman pen on the flat surface of a withering oak desk parked on one corner of her spacious spanish-era valconaje type room. She inhaled as much air coming in from the curtained capiz windows as she could and then sighed to ease the tension.

With a raised eyebrow and a bitten lower lip, she slouched on her chair and flipped several pages filled with lithe handwriting on blue ink. As the pages flashed before her slender glasses, frustration seeped into her thoughts. Graduation was but a few weeks away and she hasn't even finished her final story entry for the school portfolio.

She really didn't know for sure what it was but there was definitely something about the final piece that was preventing her from finishing. The longer the time she allocated for completing it, the slower she would write. She didn't stop, oh no, it wasn't like her to stop writing in the middle of something. Instead, she slowed down till she bordered in procrastinating.

And besides, there were so many thoughts in her mind at that time. It wasn't going to be easy, leaving a school that she's been part of since preschool.

_The dancer learned how to fend for herself after her mother died early during her childhood. She used her one talent to support herself. At first she would do it on the streets for chump change, then as part of some sideshow acts at festivals, then at special functions for decent pay. Suffice to say, she became adept at dancing._

There was the issue with old friends. At first she and her barkada planned to go into the same university. Well, it was a good plan while it lasted. One compromise followed another. And another. And another, till preferences, finances, academics and just about every possible reason had all but thrown them all to each of the four ends of the visible earth. Now, each day they spent with each other reminded them that their fellowship wont be for forever.

_The gypsy became very famous for her mesmerising dances. The fact that she uttered no word about the dances she performed gave her performances a veil of mystery. On any given instance, She would do her graceful dances, give a courtesy bow, and then leave, as would an autumn ghost to a somber crowd. She was mystic as lightning and enthralling as a concerto of thunder. _

And then there was Jason, a classmate who, for the past four years, has stuck with her for some reason she still wouldn't or couldn't acknowledge. He was first to notice her talent in writing and the first one to point out areas of improvement that her other peers wouldn't dare show her. In a way, he was her mentor, except that he never really did write anything.

_But the gypsy dancer, despite all the acclaim that she had been receiving whenever she danced for her caravan, saw that they still couldn't speak her language. Whether the dance was for joy or sadness, of longingness or belongingness, they could never really guess. It was all about the thrill of the dance for them, nothing more. _

A sequenced bleeping brought Merryl back to the real world. She took out her phone from her pocket and opened the inbox of her cel to check the message.

**Two Messages Received. **

Must've missed the first one, thought Merryl. Both messages have came from Jay, as she fondly called him. She opened the first message -

**Ei Me, myt not b able to go 2day sori**

Hints of disappointment erupted on Merryl's thoughts, she was counting on him to help her finish the story that day. He had always been her bail bondsman for sticky situations like this so she asked him to do the routine, read-suggest-followthrough activity two days ago.

Surprisingly enough, for the first time, he was the one who had volunteered to come to their house to discuss the story. For usual cases, they'd meet somewhere else, like a coffee shop or the library or his pad instead.

_One night, a stranger amidst a traveling crowd caught the dancer's attention. During her performance of the gypsy moon dance - the most famous dance in her list, he barely showed any reaction. When others regailed as she did her esteemed routines of belly waves and backflips, he would only nod. The gypsy took it as a dare. She danced more and more and better and better but the stranger would not stir. She continued till she reached her limits and the audience, theirs. When she stopped, it was only then that he stood up and clapped amidst a silenced crowd. He knew the sanctity of performance - something that she had forgotten amidst the drowning deluge of clapping and acclaims. _

Merryl read the second SMS. It couldnt be any worse than the first, she thought.

**Iv changd my mind, m goin! C ya there :)**

It was just another text message but it stirred Merryl's innards. Palms sweaty, skin cold as ice and heart beating erratically. What was to worry about? The sun was brightly up now and played with the rising dust motes from the window sill they danced in the air as though they played a game of mockery. Here we are, Merryl - even us, dust, can express ourselves when we want to.

The motes reminded her of dancing. Dancing reminded her of the prom night.

_Since then, she would often await his presence at every show she held. And though he wasn't always there to cheer her on with his quiet acknowledgement of her existence, whenever he was present, he made sure that he smiled whenever she danced in happiness, frowned in the melancholic and laughed when appropriate. He was the only audience that could ever appreciate her for what she was really doing. And the knowledge that there was truly somebody like that, was enough to give her motivation to dance even more gracefully for anyone and everyone. _

Yes, the junior-senior prom from two weeks ago. It wasn't much of a surprise that she went out with Jason that night. And it wasn't that much of a big deal between them either. He didn't know too many girls in campus and she wouldn't really want to go with any other untrustables that had asked her out. The party was tad bit anti-climactic actually. Too much shyness abound from people who probably weren't able to plan out what they would do after getting their partners.

For Merryl and Jason, it was just another night.

But when the last dance started, something happened that they, or at least Merryl would not have expected.

She found herself dancing with him very very slowly, arms wrapped around him and on the verge of tears - tears that were neither of joy or sadness, tears to acknowledge a feeling unbeknownst to her at that time.

She had fallen in love without even a notice to tell her so.

_Then, during one of her performances, a flush of guards into the stage area forced her and the music to stop. They immediately surrounded the stranger that had inspired her to do many a piece that she could never have danced otherwise. She thought of only the worst. But the worst didn't come. The all immediately paid respects to the stranger, who wasn't too bad a sport to not acknowledge the motion. He smiled at the dancer and took off his hood and turban. He was the prince of that nation, one who had been known to rule with fairness and wisdom. _

It was only during that night that he told her that he was going to leave for the States after graduation. And there was no way in hell, she could ever follow him. Those four years that she has spent with him, they made her dependent. And though she wouldn't straight-forwardly admit it, she needed his company. But she just couldn't say it to his face.

_They met again later that night when the prince spirited into her tent. It would be the first time that they would talk - or at least meet in person. And quite possibly, it would be the last time they'd see each other face to face. _

She was, more than anything that she wanted to be, a writer. Writers create stories that seldom get lived out by themselves, she thought as she looked at her unfinished work. And perhaps, she hated sad endings as much as she loathed happy ones. Maybe it was because life was so much harder than fiction. There are no endings, at least, you won't be able to tell them apart till things are really over. Sometimes, six-feet deep over.

A doorbell ring echoed across the empty corridors of the house. The way the sound traveled along to Merryl seemed to rub in the loneliness of the place. But that's the way things were. Solitude and silence, hand in hand as the official denizens of her place.

_Dance for me at my wedding, says the prince; Dance for me one last time so I may never forget what I shall be forfeiting for the love of my country. And the dancer nodded. She would dance one last time. But she would dance right then and there - in front of him, with no other audience other than him and the stary sky. There was but one dance that could convey her feelings at that time - that which couldn't have been more understood by the teary-eyed prince. _

_The Gypsy Moon Dance. _

She looked at the window and saw a half-decided Jason at the main walkway adjacent to her room. She peered down as she slaked her curiosity. He was really there! There. He was. But she sighed. No, he won't. Not for long. Life has taken the route of irony for her again - too late to be good, Too good to be late. Jason.

Sometimes, even if there are no endings, you have to lie to yourself that there is one right in front of the path which you took. Then you start believing it so much that you start dreaming that it's all true. You see the light. You and only you.

Merryl picked up her phone and started keying in a message.

**Sory 4 d late reply. Am out of d house. Lets talk in school**

_The gypsy moon dance was finally finished. The dancer was now but a dream in a dream for the prince - one that he would see but never quite reach. And they both knew daylight would part them once more. _

You start dreaming, then you wake up.

Merryl painted a weak smile across her face as she watched Jason walk out of their yard still holding a bouquet of flowers glistening from the bright sun overhead.. They never met again that day, but there was an unworded expression from that moment foretelling of some future occasion where they will in the same circumstances.

_The dancer gave the prince one last bow. Pearl drops of tears that had gathered in her eyes finally trickle down her flushed cheeks and contrastingly pale visage as she turned around and disappeared into the desert night. _

Quietly but with a held-back brazen smile, Merryl returned to her ever-sympathetic oaken table and continued with what story she was writing, amidst the falling leaves of the season, silent as the slow samba of the trees to the flowing wind around her - in the same manner of evanescence each year.

Silent.

But only in accordance of the season.

She couldn't speak.

But when she wrote, she had the most beautiful voice.

**Silent Words by RedKinoko**


	21. Silent Flower

**Glastheimspiel Tales: The Flower of Prontera**

_A bloom that appears out of tune with time  
As would a passing song of a tavern sublime  
It comes and it goes in a moment's passing  
A rare flower of the purest kind_

It was neither by mistake nor coincidence that the ironclad knight found himself part of Glastheimspiel, the infernal tournament of Castle Glast Heim that occurs once but a hundred years.

Alexandr von Irongate knew that the only way to redeem the pride of their family was the prize of the tournament - three wishes of any nature granted by the master of the castle.

Perhaps it was just by dumb luck that he hadn't encountered anybody, or anything for that matter, strong enough or still well enough to put up a proper fight since he was sent to the bowels of the fiendless castle. On his neck hung three pendants - for the three kills that he earned since he got there.

After a short rest that did not involve sleep, the knight continued walking across the ruined hallways of the inner cloisters of the castle, the carpeting was in tatters but still recognizably grand even if only in sections. Near-abstract paintings of lost landscaping that stood out of the time-cursed place decorated the walls lined with solidified dust. Only the moon provided light as it beamed its stolen shine down the paned windows, forming ghastly dances with the rising dust where the knight had passed through.

If one would be so bold in saying, he looked like Odin himself as he passed through the moonlit hall, clad in darksilver armor fit for a beast from head to toe, eyes visible only when staring point blank down the thick screens of his full-cover dragonhelm. On each his hands were rings of blade that distinguished those of the IronGate clan - Chakrams, as they were called in Izlude, were circular hollow-disk blades that could be thrown, used as one would a sword or a shield for that matter and was extremely handy at severing body parts when used by an expert.

An ebony double door intricately carved all over with depictions of festive Glastheim denizens standing at the end of the hall caught the knight's eyes. It was stationary but the dance of dust brought about by the rays of the moon made it seem to be very much alive - as though it beckoned him to enter.

Alexandr took out his chakrams from his waist and entered. The room that unfolded before him was once a sprawling theater where people had probably once gathered to see the spectacularly farce. Towards the end of the rows of ruined chairs was a stage filled with newly made holes and unsettled dust.

At the very middle of the stage was a very young dead Kafra with flaxen hair and a sword wound on her chest. Her weapon, a broadstaff lay beside her in a most orderly fashion. And though her face was mucked with grime and blood, she looked as though she was at peace.

Only when Alexandr approached the body did it dawn to him. It was a funeral, complete with fresh flowers around her body.

To see something as peaceful and orderly as such, even if as a funeral, was quite shocking to see in a tournament as hellish as Glastheimspiel.

Then, he caught an idle scent. It was most familiar for it was from no other than a flower he had grown up with in the Pronteran Academy - The Bloom of the Pronteran Shamrock. It was a rare flower that bloomed but once every five years, with a scent so distinctly sweet that it carves a place in your memory.

He looked around for the source and saw an outline of a child from afar.

The child stood into one of the broken windows and exposed a little girl in daily aprons sporting a weaved basket filled with flowers and a flowerband on her head.

"Are these flowers yours?" asked Alexandr in a calm voice.

The child nodded causing some of her loose fuchsia hair to fall into her innocent smile.

"This is no place for kids," chided Alexandr. He knew very well that that statement couldn't have been meant in seriousness. The fact that she was there… No. The fact that she was still there meant that she was one of those strong enough to last that long.

"This is no place for men either," replied the girl as she raised five pendants, on of them still bloodied - two more than what Alexandr got in a day's time.

"Then tell me, what would a girl would be doing in a tournament like Glastheim?"

The flowergirl took out a stemmed white rose from her basket and showed it to the Knight.

"Flowers, Sasha is doing it for the flowers," replied the girl after which she blew softly into the rose. The petals became lose one by one but did not fall. They remained suspended, hardly visible from the darkness. Alexandr moved half a step back and poised for defense.

The rose petals then flew towards the knight. The petals passed through the knight at a speed that was impossible with something so soft. With razor-sharp edges and dangerous accuracy, they pierced through the helmet and split it in half.

Long, auburn hair that flowed like a ripples on a calm lake exploded from the sealed helmet as the metal casque fell to the ground. Alexandr's face even caught the flower girl by surprise. She was, in fact, a woman - with a face less becoming of a knight and more of an enchanting damsel in distress, pouty lips, rosy cheeks, deep blue Izludean gaze - the whole package. Light wounds left by the passing petals outlined her flushed cheeks with real blood.

"Like I said, this is no place for men and children and senseless dreams that go nowhere," followed-up the exposed knight without so much preturbance.

Sasha stammered, face stifling a scream. She threw the rose stem to the ground whence it buried itself unnaturally deeply. The ground cracked a few seconds later and emerald-hued vines that seemed to live and breathe began to come out and surround the young girl, swaying from left to right in a bizarre dance-like fashion.

Alexandr knew that her time for talking was over. She had no intention of being marked as sixth of the pendants on that girl's basket. She ran away from the creeping vines, cut those that thrust towards her and bobbed and weaver her way out of those that couldn't be cut.

"I love flowers. Flowers would never harm another flower. Flowers don't rob other flowers. They don't kill for pleasure. They don't think bad thoughts. Flowers! To be surrounded with nothing but flowers! No more wars, no more spilled blood, no suffering!" shouted a very grimaced Sasha as the vines kept up their endless attacks on the knight who was barely dodging the razor vines that her chakrams failed to disable.

More and more vines were coming out of the floor and soon, they were coming out of cracks from all over the place. The theater was looking less like the theater it was supposed to be and more a forest of deadly entanglement. Alexandr was being driven into a corner.

_I can't lose. Not until my family's honor has been restored. Dammit why am I the only one being attacked by these plants? It's not like they can think on their own!_

More and more vines kept on sprouting from the flower girl's feet.

But luck it, seemed, ran out for Alex. A vine finally got a stab at an opening in her armor and managed to entangle her right arm using the wound piercing. The vine seeped into her armor and ran beneath her skin, tearing both flesh and tendon apart as it ran its course of damage. The rest of the vines pried her chakrams out of her arms and took them to the far end of the theater.

No longer able to move about, the knight was dragged back to the flower girl in a painful procession of sprawling green monstrosity and eerie crimson flowers blooming around them. Alexandr tried to hold back her anguish but she couldn't help but cringe from the crushing force of her captor.

The vines tightened their vice-like grip on the knight, the pressure increased so much that even the heavy side guards were starting to crumple as though they were sheets of iron roofing. If those things gave way, there'd be nothing to prevent the vines from turning her into pulp juice.

As she neared however, Alexandr's reaction changed form pain to that of complacency once more. There was a grin on her face, not that she was out of the hook already but probably because she knew she had the upper hand all along.

"You claim that you love your flowers so much. Let's see if they're willing to requite," said Alexandr as she intentionally outlined her left triceps with a protruding end of her crumpled armor, swung her wound towards the flower girl, splashing her unusually clean apron and Payon-doll face with fresh blood.

Suddenly, the vines could no longer smell the scent of flowers. At least, to them it had been desecrated by the strong stench of dying blood. In a fit of rage they turned towards their master and pierced the unsuspecting foundling countless of times to in the chest.

The vines kept going till they hit the floor where they burrowed and produced roots. Sasha arched back in such fashion that the looped vines were the only things keeping her standing. Her own blood trickled down the stems of her weapons.

"My dear plants, have you forsaken me?"

Without their primary driving force, the vines finally began to slack. The knight was finally able to remove the entanglement on her right arm. It was almost limp from the wound and the lack of blood. The sheer weight of the Izlude-tempered steel plating did not help a bit either.

As Alexandr freed herself from the dying plants she stared at her enemy who, as she had guessed, depended only on the superficial scent of the flowers that she sold to protect her from her own monstrosities. The knight could almost feel pity for the child.

"Such prowess," mouthed Sasha in a blood-curdling voice, "I... I want to be like you when I grow up."

That said, the young girl fell to her knees and finally gave way to the calling of the valkyries. Her fall was most gracious, as would a rose when dropped in any manner.

"No flowers for your death, sugar," whispered Alexandr as she walked away from the scene, barely alive but victorious nonetheless. "I like children too but I do not cut off their heads and sell them in bouquets. I'd be mad too if you did that to my kind on a daily basis. Justice has been served here."

As the blood of the Pronteran flower girl seeped into the cracks of the blighted ground of the theater, flowers with snow-white petals that mimicked the glow of moonlight sprang almost everywhere they could and bathed the dome with eerily white nightlight. Alexandr picked up her chakrams, moved on and finally there was none left in the old theater but Sacha, flowers, and the lingering presence of death.

And perhaps, even if for that moment only, the Pronteran flower girl needn't win Glastheimspiel to make her wish come true.

The End.

---------------

**Author's Notes:**

This fic is actually one of the oldest stories I've found in my old disk so far, originally as part of unpublished parts of Glastheimspiel. My friend commented that Byakuya of Bleach uses a very similar cherryblossom attack as Sasha. She really does doesnt she? Anyway that's the only way I could have imagined the flower girl fight, the similarity is just coincidence I guess. Thanks for reading.


	22. What People Do When They're In Love

**What People Do When They're In Love** by Redkinoko and HealsforMeals

I want a divorce.

Everything ended with something as simple as that when she broke the message to me a year ago. It was a high priestess, Primella that uttered these words. Primella had been the wife of my sniper EndlessCalamity from the moment we could wed them.

In real life, a girl named Marion owned Primella.

Marion was my girlfriend.

We met in RO as distant guildmates, became friends in RO, and fell for each other in game. Whoever said online relationships didn't work out should've seen us when we were still together. Every night, Marion and I would trade sleep for playing RO with each other, and then see each other in dates on weekends. We were connecting more than anybody other couple.

I loved her so much and I was sure she's the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. When I was with her I knew I could pretty much rule the world if I wanted to. And I'm sure she'd think the same of me.

Then it happened one night. It was a special night, our second anniversary as a couple. I was in a cafe in Cebu where I was spending my vacation at that time. Of course in keeping with how we styled our relationship, we had a date inside our favorite game.

I gave her as a gift the lyrics of the song that I made for her, knowing she badly wanted to be part of the music my band back in Manila.

_**Profession** by SevenCounts_

_I love you and dont love you  
Always and never_

_I dont love your for your looks  
a face with time, whithers away_

_I dont love you for your voice  
it shall pass when these ears fail_

_I dont love you for your jokes  
all the time we cant be laughing_

_I dont love you for your words  
words are written, passing potions_

_I dont love you even for the promise  
it can be fulfilled, forgotten_

_I dont love you for those things  
but read this - I love you no less_

_I dont love you for any reason  
for reasons are too specific  
reasons make things fade away  
with seasons lead us astray_

_I love you because I love you  
I love you for that your are  
the very reason today Im smiling  
the very reason I've gone this far_

_Because with you the world is love  
love without reason or doubt  
love that makes things rise and fall  
love, otherwise nothing at all_

_You are my love  
and you are your own reason  
This much I know is true  
PS, I love you. _

She thanked me for it, and though I couldn't hear her voice at that time, I was guessing she was excited about it and how she could hear it being played when I got back to Manila. But then again, she barely made any remarks about it and just continued casting spells and doing emoticons afterwards.

I shrugged it off.

Then later that night, we were resting in Prontera when she sent me a PM.

**(From Primella): Two years na pala.   
(To Primella): Two years pa lang.  
(From Primella): yup yup   
(From Primella): can i ask you a question jet?  
(To Primella): Looks like I don't have a choice, you're asking already.  
(From Primella): pilosopo ka talaga!  
(From Primella): nyway, masaya ka ba sa 2 years na magkasama tayo?  
(To Primella): Syempre naman. I can't imagine playing RO without you around. Bakit mo natanong?  
**  
At this point my heart was beating fast already. A voice at the back of my head was already screaming at me that something was wrong. It wasn't like her to become so sentimental all of a sudden. It wasn't like her to be like that.

And then she said it.

**(From Primella): I want a divorce.  
**  
She must have meant it as a joke. It just had to be. So I asked why, she then replied.

**(From Primella): i want to see our characters divorced before I give this account to my friend  
(To Primella): Are you serious?  
(From Primella): dead serious. im quitting RO  
(To Primella): That character is something we made together. You cant just give it to anybody.  
(From Primella): ill delete it anyway  
(To Primella): No. Dammit, what the hell is this all about?  
(From Primella): keep a secret? ****  
**  
My heart beat faster and faster. The perfect world I was living in started crumbling by the pillars. She was the reason for RO. She was the reason for everything. And now this? I took a breath and asked her as to what her secret was. I didn't want to know anymore, but it's not like I have any choice anymore.

**(To Primella): What is it?  
(From Primella): My mom is going to the states and she'll be taking me with her.  
(From Primella): I cant play RO there.  
(To Primella): Then why the divorce? Youll come back right?  
(From Primella): No I won't. We'll be migrating so it'll take a long time for me to return.  
(To Primella): I'll wait for you.  
(From Primella): But I wont. I cant.  
(To Primella): What? Is there anything I'm not seeing here.  
(From Primella): I hate long distance relationships.  
(From Primella): our relationship will just become a baggage for our lives.  
(To Primella): A baggage? So is that how you saw the whole relationship?  
(From Primella): now we're on the same page.  
(From Primella): it was good leveling with you though.  
(From Primella): and thanks for the song.  
(To Primella): You're welcome. ****  
**  
The conversation ended there. She disconnected. I disconnected. And that was the last time we ever talked. Not that I still needed to. That settles that. I've been fucked by my so-called-girlfriend.

You're welcome, you sly bitch. I hope that airplane you ride on crashes to the ground like a fucking dart. 

That was all I had in my mind. But at that time, I was too much in shock. I was still deeply in love with her when she broke up with me without any reason, without warning. Had I been so fucking clueless about everything, I asked myself. So much so that I thought my love was being reciprocated?

I hated her for that. She didn't have to accompany me to Niffleheim. I made the divorce myself. I convinced the guildmaster to kick her out of the guild as well since he was a friend of mine who owed me a favor. I got in her account and threw away all her inventory. My rares, her rares - it didn't matter. I wanted her inventory cleaned.

It was pretty convenient after all, ditching me for an opportunity to bag a Joe and live the American life. Shit, I know I couldn't give her that. Not with what I had at the time. I was a small-time programmer, what would I know in earning dollars? I'm just a guildmate who hunted bosses with her in game.

But I took the whole breakup with a pinch of salt and went on with my life. I continued playing Ragnarok Online and also worked hard to start my own business outside the game. After a few months, I finally got to establish my own software company taking work from abroad and earning much more than what the average American salaried man earns.

Through the time after I broke up with Marion I went in and out of many relationships. Perhaps save for how she broke up with me, I saw Marion as the perfect girl to aspire for, but she was so high above another level, any girl I meet online or in real life couldn't even begin to compare.

It was always the case of me almost forgetting about the girl in my past named Marion. Almost, because life has its way of not letting what needs to be remembered slip out of the picture.

I remember it clearly, it was the 1st of November and I was visiting the grave of the parents of a friend in Paranaque. I saw a familiar old couple. They were the parents of Marion, standing in front of a grave marker just a few meters away from where I stood.

I thought I was hallucinating at first, since I thought Marion made it pretty clear that they were migrating and wont be returning anytime soon. I looked around to see if Marion was around, and confirmed after a while that she wasn't.

I approached them to ask why they weren't in the States like Marion told me. I wasn't the one to break up with their daughter so I took it that there was they bore no ill will against me. And they didn't.

Her mother broke down in tears. There was never any plan to migrate to the States, Marion's father told me.

"More lies," I snickered and told myself.

As I learned, I was the one who was lying to myself.

"Marion died a few months after you two broke up," he told me.

One week before the night she asked for a divorce, her father recalled tearfully and careful to not let it show, Marion had been diagnosed with an incurable cancer that gave her the pale coloured I've always attributed to some sort of anemia. She was told she had only a few months to live.

It was her wish that I not know anything about it, how she suffered to the bitter end. How her body slowly and surely failed her, turning her into a bedridden pile of flesh the most painful way possible.

She didn't want me to be part of it.

I broke into tears and asked her father the ultimate question of why.

Why she had to do this to me.

Why she didn't want me with her in her suffering.

Without a word, he pointed to me the stone-carved epitaph in the marble that lay in front of us:

_for you are my love  
and you are your own reason  
This much I know is true  
PS, I love you._

**Marion Agcaoilli **  
born: May 25, 1986  
died: April 18, 2005


	23. True Leadership

** True Leadership by Redkinoko**

Once upon a time, two princes were sent to train with a powerful vanguard in the mountains of Mjolnir. Knowing the two were bitter rivals for the throne of their kingdom, the vanguard decided to do away with the joint exercises and let each boy camp out at opposite sides of the mountain.

Each day, the Vanguard gave them a task to do. And without telling the boys how their rivals fared, at the end of the task the vanguard would let each boy know if he did better by letting him get anything that he requested for. As a result, it became a blind competition between the two, with the competitor always hidden by a mountainside.

Magnus, the younger of the boys, happened to be assigned to the western half of Mjolnir. The west side of Mjolnir, being exposed to the cool, damp Geffenite winds made the vegetation lush and the fauna varied, making foraging easier. Soft wood made easy timber and water was never hard to come by. It was safe to assume for him that the other boy was having a harder time.

Then came the tasks.

On the first task, the boys were asked to build their own house. It was easy enough for Magnus to find soft wood. He built a simple hut the first day but he had problems with the leaves he had used for roofing as they kept on falling off. Nonetheless it was a sturdy house and the boy saw it was all good.

The vanguard came the next day and asked for what the boy wanted. Magnus requested for rope to lash the roof leaves together. He got what he wanted.

On the next task, the boys were asked to gather food that would be enough to make them survive inside the houses for one week. The animals around Magnus's house gave ample meat and he was able to gather them by the end of the day.

The vanguard came the next day and asked for what the boy wanted. Magnus asked for salt to preserve the meat he had gathered as the meat was spoiling already. He got what he wanted.

The last task was to create a fortification around their houses. To that goal, Magnus cut off very large trees and started piling them up around his cabin. As the trees that he chose proved to be very heavy, he was only able to build half of the wallings by the end of the day.

The vanguard came the next day and to Magnus's surprise, still asked the boy what he wanted. Magnus promptly asked for a lumbercart to be able to finish his wall. The vanguard gave what he wanted and left.

There were no more tasks left. All that was to it was to survive the week on what they already had. At that time, Magnus got to thinking, "If I was only able to half finish some of my tasks and still get my wish, brother must be having a very hard time. I just have to survive to win this."

At the end of the week, the two princes were given the signal to converge at the peak of the mountain. Even with the necessary preparations, life at the mountain was hard. Meat spoiled, the roof leaked, and the walls broke down. Magnus arrived at the place badly bruised all over, in tattered clothes, and with an empty stomach.

On the other hand, the other prince arrived as though he had been there only that day, with a warm meal at hand, dry clothes and hardly any scratches on his skin.

Upon sight of this, Magnus was outraged and started lashing it out on his sibling in front of the vanguard. "How can this be? Have we not been in the same mountain the whole week? Have I not fared better in every task? Brother, how dare you cheat behind my back!"

The brother did not speak. Instead, it was the vanguard who replied. " He didn't cheat, and I never told anybody who won or lost each task."

"But I got my requests didn't I?" Magnus replied with a grump.

The brother still did not speak.

"In truth, you never won any of the tasks despite your advantage in terrain," explained the Vanguard, "Funny as it may seem, every time I asked your brother what he wanted, he always asked me to fulfill your request instead as you losing the task meant you might be having a harder time than him."

Magnus could no longer speak. Tears welled in the young boy's eyes.

"Such is true leadership, being able to consider the fate of others around you despite the opportunity to take advantage to make the situation for your own betterment," lectured the vanguard as he declared the other brother the winner of the little contest.

Magnus gracefully accepted defeat and the brothers made peace then and there and became the best of friends for the rest of their lives.

The older brother was named later dubbed as Tristam III, King of the Holy Capital Prontera.

-----------------------------  
_Hahaha I wrote this just now. I attempted to make the whole thing sound like an old-school text book story. I'm not sure how it turned out though. R&R?_


	24. A Duel

**A Duel by Redkinoko **

A loud chorus of whizzing Sograt sand carried by the eastern winds rang across my ears in a painful siren shriek that snapped me back into reality. The explosion threw me off my feet and rendered me a helpless doll. It felt like floating on a dry lake - all two seconds of it.

My back helplessly landed hard on the shifting dunes; I almost felt my consciousness slip, mind rattled, and entire body filled with trauma as my exposed skin skidded along the roughness of the desert. Still, the prickly heat of the sand that covered my body told me I could feel.

To feel is to be alive.

From a distance I heard him shout amidst slow, ridiculing clapping. "That makes it one all between you and me, your highness," he said with a struggling undertone, "although the first one shouldn't even count."

That bastard.

I took three deep breaths and heaved my weakened body up. I propped my numbed right leg with my trusty jamadhar. In front of me lay a crater of hot smoldering sand sparkling under the afternoon sun, its edges turned into clear glass from the heat. Meteors raining down during a match weren't exactly what I expected from him.

"I didn't want to use something like that on you but you were putting up quite the fight. For somebody who has been serving as high priestess for a very long time, you still pass as a competent 'cross. You never should have left."

Left? I gargled my own saliva and spat out blood that mixed with it. I watched my spit sink under the unstable sand and thought how I got it bad for him and his trickeries. Left? I never felt part of the sand society.

He on the other hand just stood there, curtseying as our eyes crossed. I gave him a feral stare. His body had taken quite the beating as well but he carried damage better. His left arm looked limp and I'm pretty sure my kicks earlier broke him a rib or two. His fishnet clothing was torn in sections, exposing bloodied pecks and biceps that crushed other men's arms effortlessly.

The very image of this battle torn man made things almost, well, sexy.

But no time for such thoughts now.

The 'Cross known as Rheisz. That man. My victor. To have wagered myself in such a predicament, I've heaven's blessings of the perfect fool.

After more shallow breathing, I was able to regulate my body's rhythm again. No way in hell will I be subdued by such a rowdy man like that!

I watched him approach me, still holding his blood-soaked katars. I did not blink even for an instant despite the sting of sand in my eyes.

"I've won. This time you can't call me a cheater."

Fate was in fact against me in this battle. I tried to raise my weapon but paralyzing sharp pain darted to my back as I tried to poise for strike. He saw me struggling to even stand, and he laughed.

"It's over now, Millie."

Millie? What a stupid name. I've always thought of it as childish. That man. "That's Millerna to you! And this is not over!" I tried to shriek the best I could. Pangs in my chest took the air out of my voice.

Rheisz came close and then fell beside me, enervated. He then rose up for a moment and tackled my abdomen with his arm, gently this time. I no longer had any force left to resist falling down, and laid down in the sand with him. I looked at my side and found myself staring at the face of my adversary. He was heaving and almost drifting into unconsciousness - and he was smiling the same smile I've gotten so used to.

"Damn, woman," he said while huffing, "When you told me you 'not without a fight', I didn't know you were Niffelheim-bound serious!"

I laughed it off, coming into terms with my obvious defeat. "What were you expecting? A floral bouquet and a fancy greeting card saying 'You win'?"

My opponent faced me and stuck his tongue out and made such a cute face. I couldn't help but laugh - which pained my wounds even more. "Hey don't make me laugh! It hurts!"

"You think you have it bad? Try walking around with poison in your blood."

"You were also asking for it."

"Excuse me?" he replied with a raised, complainy voice, "How the hell was I asking for it? I asked for a match - fair and square. And you just had to throw your fancy poison-me-elmo darts at me like I'm some target practice doll in your backyard."

I started giggling as I stared back at the reddened sky. "I got carried away because you looked so damn serious. I want only the strongest."

The 'cross beside me stood up and locked my thighs with his powerful legs. He was on top of me now locking down on me in my blood streaked face and unruly hair.

"A wager is a wager, Now..."

He paused. I held my breath and stared at him in the eyes. I watched him closely as he nervously took a deep breath and open his mouth ever so uncertainly,

"Will you marry me?"

I beamed back a smile at him and brushed the dirt from his cheek with my thumb.

A sincere smile.

He was my man already, and there's no other person in this world I'd gladly spend or end my life with other than him. I clutched my jamadhar with my right hand and whispered in his ear,

"Best of three?"

_Author's notes: _

_Thi is actually a tailor-made story requested by Nilathiel, a fellow writer from the local Ragnaboards. Both characters in this story are hers, along with the backgrounds they have. As information given to me wasn't complete, I just had to improvise a couple of details here and there, history, personality etc. I really rushed this piece so sorry if it's not as meaty as usual.  _


	25. Pan's Treasure

**Pan's Treasure by Red Kinoko**

_It is so said that at the twilight of one's life, a lot of things are made clear by gaining a new height of perspective - that through looking back, realizations are made and the nostalgia that comes with age it seems teems with enlightenment._

It was, however, not really until that day that I realized I was already old. 

That day Pan died.

Cold October rain greeted my arrival at our meeting place. I could no longer recall how many years have passed since I last passed by the area. The place is but a ghost of its somewhat glorious past now. A desk here and a chair there, a faded signboard, boxes of old equipment - there were only a few things to remind me of what it was before, blanketed by dust and forget. Images of the past were only drawn by streetlight and my failing memory of what was once the biggest internet cafe in the area - computers, chairs, lively players. It was the Collegian Cafe as I remember it. It was how we remembered it.

"She was smiling until the end," a seasoned voice said, coming from the darkened end of the closed-down shop. I adjusted my glasses to see who I was talking to.

His voice was barely the rowdy regular that I remember him to be, but this man was beyond a doubt Allan, a guildmate of mine from before. I saw his outline standup from leaning on one of the desks that used to hold the computers we played with many years ago. As his face came into the light of the streetlamps outside coming in from the translucent window I saw a face weathered by time. Black hair turned snow-white, wrinkles had grown around his face, pretty much the same way mine has changed. The smile was, however, as warm as ever.

I hugged Allan. "Good to see you again, Stripsleeve," I greeted.

"Stripsleeve?" he pushed me back a bit to look at me. "You have got to be the first person in fifty years to ever call me that," he continued. I laughed, partially because I felt a surge of youth using a name I shouted so often in the past, during sieges, during clan matches. I laughed harder still because I was able to remember, something that is somewhat a feat at my age.

"Sorry I could not make it to the funeral, amigo," said I. The flight that took me back to Manila could not have been arranged sooner due to my failing health and my grandchildren going against my wishes. When I learned from Allan of what had happened, I tried to get back as quickly as could - but as always I was late.

Allan sat down again, this time on a half broken office chair, almost intentionally left there for the nostalgic. "Celia, no, Pan would have understood. You were always the no show during sieges anyway, remember? The lazy guildmaster," he joked but softly. And I've almost forgotten about that as well. Once upon a time I had been Konstantin, guildmaster of the proud gaming guild Cirque 'd Sange.

Yes, and I remembered Pan. I remembered her. "The day Ragnarok Online stopped, the last Philippine Championship we competed in, we all agreed to go our separate ways, didn't we?" I said. Allan nodded. "There was not much else after that, wasn't there?" he replied, "not after we lost."

But that was not how I had remembered it. No, I was here at the shop for something about that and Allan should know it. I stood up and started poking the crumbling ceilings of the shop with my walking stick.

"Why did you ask me to come here anyway?" Allan asked - expression half-annoyed while watching what I was doing. "And what in the world are you looking for?" Let him wait, I thought. This was her last request and I just couldn't let it pass by.

I poked the cornermost ceiling tile and it easily gave way. A taped box fell to the floor, exploding a dust cloud that left me in a coughing fit.

"I was sent an email from somebody I couldn't recognize a week ago about this. In the email I was told to look here for Pan's treasure," I told Allan while stopping down with a cutter to open the box. Pan's treasure was it? I almost felt anxious to see it open.

Allan joined me in looking inside the box. As we opened it, a dusty, faded pink poring doll came into view. The stitched letters "CAKES" at the back made me recognize it immediately. Pan-cakes.

"Wasn't this the poring you gave Pan the first time we had an eyeball party? You really liked her even then, right?" Allan said as he dusted off the stuffed toy. I nodded my head while I tried hard to find explanation as to why she'd hide it there.

I chuckled. "If I knew the contents would be this embarrassing I would have gone here alone." Allan set the stuffed toy on a nearby desk and peered into the box again. "Probably not, I know you were always the one who cannot resist the urge to organize a party to do things. Even until now." He smiled back and took out several tags.

"RPC '08, competitor tags?" I recognized the logo and our names. Pan. Stripsleeve. Konstantin. Looking back, our loss during the finals wasn't really so much of a big deal as we all had thought back then. Pan apparently knew that much, and had kept the tags we threw away after the match. "Damn, Kons," Allan looked at my tag as it hung on his hand, "You really sucked as a priest."

I gave him a dirty finger. "Amp ka," I said, as though we were as young as we once were once again, "weak!" Allan began laughing hard and I followed suit. It was hard to imagine that fifty years ago things turned out quite differently. After a while we both tired from the laughter and silence once again flooded the room.

"After we fought about the last match, I officially disbanded the guild," I said trying to reminisce my actions over fifty years ago. "Pan was the guild lieutenant at the time. The night before the match, I revealed my feelings for her. She told me she couldn't at the moment, but I was too impatient back then. I couldn't anymore. And it was not like I didn't know about you two as well. I just wanted to move on and maybe in doing so, I'd give room for you in the picture."

Allan got back to the chair, sat down, and bowed his head. "It's true, I liked her as well. I love her as much now as I did back then. As matter of fact, I surprised her with a marriage proposal ingame. We planned to go get our characters hitched right after the match, win or lose."

Youthful emotions came back to me once again, bypassing all memories of my life after playing the game. Excitement, anxiety - jealousy. "It was good for you two then, right?"

"Many things ended that day of the finals," Allan spoke softly. "A year later I married Celia for real."

The rain outside had already stopped before I noticed it and there was nothing left around us but the silence brought by passing time.

"It was me who sent that email. Pan," Allan spoke but hesitated. He took a deep breath and finally proceeded. "Pan - no - Celia asked me to send that email during her dying moments. She told me 'there's something in the box I want Kosntantin to see.' She gave me a kiss after saying that and then she slept like a baby, smiling and in peace, and never woke up again."

"Sorry to hear that. Do you know what is in the box?" I asked.

Allan shrugged. "No, but I think I have an idea."

I looked inside the box and saw that she had intended for me to see.

An unused Ragnarok Online prepaid card, still covered in plastic and never opened. Beside it was a note, its handwriting I could recognize at any age. "With this card unopened," it read, "Pan never attended her wedding with StripSleeve. She was waiting for her real groom, and in a way, she still is."

I looked at Allan. The old chap was teary-eyed but smiling.

"The game wedding never took place. We never played again after you left. And it took her a lifetime to tell you," Allan said with a shaky voice.

"You were her real treasure."

_And perhaps at the end of life there lies all truth in this world, that we may know what to regret and what to be thankful for._

Perhaps.


End file.
